


See Me Once, See the Way I Feel

by elrhiarhodan



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Academic Malfeasance, Age Difference, Alternate Universe, Charlie Isn't Evil, Expressions of Anti-Semitism, Gentle Harry, Harry - Victoria Friendship, Hartwin, Hurt/Comfort, Injured Eggsy, M/M, Mr. Pickle Is a Matchmaker, Past Harry/Merlin, Past Harry/Victoria, Reference to Spousal Abuse (Dean/Michelle), Romance, Slow Burn, badass merlin, canon-level violence, holocaust survivor, insecure eggsy, lepidopterist Harry, not spies, reference to past sexual abuse, very slow burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-14
Updated: 2019-04-14
Packaged: 2019-12-25 11:35:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 35,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18260468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elrhiarhodan/pseuds/elrhiarhodan
Summary: Harry Hart, Director of Acquisitions for the Lepidopteral Catalog at the London Natural History Museum, is on his way home one Sunday afternoon, and encounters a lovely young man selling a rare collection of butterfly books in an antique fair.  Of course he has to stop and take a look, and it doesn't take a scientist to see that this young man is as rare and special as the books he's selling.Eggsy's a young man working hard to support his mum and baby sister, but the three jobs he's working at barely help make ends meet.  A lucky encounter with a posh gent who just happens to want to buy an old set of books he's got might just give him a way out of a life of endless poverty.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Binary_Sunset](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Binary_Sunset/gifts).



> Written for Binary_Sunset for the 2019 Age Gap Exchange. They had asked for gentle lepidopterist Harry in an academic setting - this is close to that and I hope you like it. I'm also a trifle embarrassed at the length of the story - 36k in one go is a lot of words, but every time I tried to make it shorter, I only ended up writing more.
> 
> I didn't tag this as a crossover, but Victoria and Ivan are characters from RED/RED 2, and my head canon is that whether the story is canon-adjacent or AU, Victoria is the only woman Harry's had sex with (and if canon-adjacent, other than on a honeypot or within mission parameters).

Harry stops in his tracks when the young man at free standing table calls out, "Could I interest you in some really nice books today?"

He hadn't planned on buying any books today. His best friend, Merlin, would tell him that he already has too many of them, but there's something about the young man's sad face that draws him to the table at the open-air antique market he's passing through on his way home from an afternoon filled with mundane errands.

The young man – more than a boy but seemingly not quite an adult – is looking around at the tables to his right and to his left and is disgusted by how brisk the business is there and how no one seems to even want to take a look at the piles of old books on his. He lights up with a smile as Harry approaches. "Good morning, sir. Would you be interested in a complete set of _Butterflies of the World_? This isn't some Time-Life collection, but a set that any gentleman would be proud to display in his library." There's more than a hint of South London in his diction.

Harry stops and stares at the young man, feeling like he's the victim of some elaborate hoax. He looks at the oversized volumes on the table – they are old and the covers are worn, and the some of the books are showing signs of broken spines. Mouth dry, Harry takes a closer look and sees that the bookseller's offerings don't quite match his sales pitch.

"You mean, "Macrolepidoptera of the World", or more accurately, _Die Großschmetterlinge der Erde_."

"Yeah, butterflies – macrolepidoptera – same thing."

"Not really. Butterflies are a subspecies of lepidoptera, which also includes moths. _Macrolepidoptera_ are the larger insects of the species. But in the case of Adalbert Seitz' work, which you are offering for sale, the name is misleading, as Seitz had planned to cover all species of lepidoptera – butterflies and moths – not just the bigger ones, in his books."

The young man shakes his head. "Figures that the one customer I get is a freakin' lepidopterist who reads German and probably already has the books." The smile accompanies that statement does its intended job and cuts the sourness of the young man's words.

"Yes, I am a lepidopterist, but I don't have a set."

"Why not? This is the seminal work in the field."

Harry sighs. "My ex-wife got them in the divorce."

"Oi! That sucks."

Harry feels compelled to add, "And then she sold them for a pittance to an academic rival. She'd been bitter and wanted to hurt me as much as I'd hurt her."

"You slept around? Unfaithful?" The young man wrinkles his nose and glare at Harry.

Harry grimaces. "No, I hadn't been with anyone else. But I'd been dishonest with her and I think – in retrospect – that that had been worse." He shakes his head. "And I am sorry for giving you my sad life story." 

"No problem, mate. So does that mean you might be interested in buying these?"

Harry flips through Volume IV, pleased to see that all of the plates are intact. For years, he's been hunting for a replacement set of the 1927 edition he'd had to give to Victoria, but the only ones he'd been able to find had been stripped of the colorful plates. "I could be convinced to buy the whole set if the price is right. These are very well used, and will need some rebinding." He rubs gently on the binding and feels how the glue is cracked and disintegrating.

The seller just nods. 

Harry has to ask, "Where did you get these?"

"My neighbor died. He had no family and the landlord was going to pitch 'em when they cleaned out the flat. I asked if I could take the books and some other stuff – "

Now Harry's curiosity is piqued, "Other stuff? Was your neighbor a lepidopterist, too?"

"I think so. He had a whole bunch of specimen boxes filled with dead butterflies and moths. I took the lot of them, thought the pretty ones would look nice hanging in my baby sis' bedroom, but my mum was kind of creeped out so I keep 'em under my bed. Don't think they're worth anything. Also took a bunch more books, lots of old scientific magazines, the guy's own journals and stuff. Been using the books to teach myself German."

Harry is very impressed by that. "Admirable. You are interested in butterflies."

"Dunno, maybe?" The young man shrugs.

"It's a very exciting field to be in these days. Butterflies are like the proverbial canary in the coal mine, harbingers of what's happening to our environment." Harry opens another volume and pages through it and finds that it's complete, as well.

"You really are a lepidopterist? Like more than just a hobby?"

"Yes, I am. I work at the Natural History Museum and consult with the London Zoo." 

The young man whistles, clearly impressed. "Takes a lot of schooling, you have a Ph.D., I bet."

Harry nods, "I do."

"I guess that it's not a job that pays the big bucks."

"In my position, I do well enough. But like most scientific fields, the monetary rewards don't match the value of the results. It's one of those careers that is best suited for the independently wealthy or the foolishly romantic."

"And which are you?"

Harry looks up from his perusal. "What do you think?"

"Well, you look and sound like a posh git, so I might say you were born with a silver spoon up your – " The young man cuts himself off, realizing, perhaps that he's insulting a potential customer. "With a silver spoon in your mouth. But you also regret lying to your wife, so maybe a romantic?"

Harry nods, delighted at the young man's deductive reasoning. "You are correct. I have some money and I am rather the romantic sort. Not really the hearts-and-flowers type of romance, but I am not the most practical of people."

"So, if you've got the dosh, then why did you let your wife take your books?"

"Because she needed that small vengeance to help her heal. It hurt me, but not as much as I'd hurt her. And it did help. In the years since, we've become rather remarkably close friends. We'll get together for dinner a few times a month. I'd introduced to the man who became her adoring second husband, went to their wedding, and even gave a toast."

"Don't think my mum could have been so civilized. My stepda had been a right bastard to her, tried to kill her when she got up the duff."

Harry doesn't quite know what to say about that. "I hope he's in prison for his misdeeds."

"He had been, but he's dead now. Got shanked about two weeks after he went in. He'd gotten put in the same prison as some big-time drug dealer that he'd stiffed. I'd have sent the guy flowers, but the screws probably wouldn't deliver 'em and it's not like I got the dosh to waste."

"Speaking of money, how much do you want for the set."

Harry can see the young man calculating what he can get out of him for it. Harry, for his part, has been prepared to pay substantially for this particular set. He has a standing request with the numerous antiquarian book dealers on Charing Cross Road, including the one owned by two of his oldest friends. Harry had set a maximum price of five thousand pounds for a complete set of the 1927 edition in collectible condition, with a caveat to always contact him if one becomes available at a greater price.

"Two thousand quid, not a penny less. But for that price, I'll deliver to you tonight." 

Harry can see the young man holding his breath, waiting for the price to be dismissed out of hand. "How about twenty-five hundred quid, cash tonight."

"What? That's five hundred more than what I was asking. You mental?"

"No, I am a fair man who happens to know the value of what you're selling. I should be offering you even more, but while I'm fair, I'm not stupid."

"All right, all right." The young man nods and he looks a little stunned.

"By the way, I'm Harry Hart." Harry reaches into his breast pocket and pulls out his wallet. He takes out a business card and asks for a pen.

"My name's Eggsy – Eggsy Unwin. Well, my real name's Gary but not even my mum calls me that. And here you go." The young man gives him an old ball point with a chewed up end.

Harry writes his address on the back of the business card. "And here is where the books need to go."

"Eleven Stanhope Mews South. Where's that?"

"Kensington, just off of Gloucester Road. You can make it tonight?" 

"Actually, if you want, I can drive you home with the books right now. It's all I've got for sale."

Harry finds Eggsy's offer tempting, but he's not sure he has enough cash in the house, so he'll need stop at an ATM before going home. He's not going to mess up this acquisition, nor does he want to tempt this lovely young man into a bit of larceny. "I'm afraid that I have a few more errands to run before going home. But if you can be at that address at seven, we can finish the transaction."

Eggsy frowns. "I've borrowed a mate's car – he's got to get it back so he can go to work tonight. I've got to work tonight, too."

Harry asks, out of idle curiosity, "Where do you work?" 

"I've got a shift at the Maccy D's on Hampstead Heath that starts at ten, but I need to get home and take care of my sister from six to nine, when my mum gets home from her shift at St. Thomas'. Today's my only free day – I do shifts stocking shelves at Tesco everyday but Sunday, and I'm on the after-hours maintenance crew at the Westfield Mall the nights when I'm not working for the Big Clown. Which is probably more than you ever wanted to know about me."

Harry is appalled. "When do you sleep?"

Eggsy shrugs, as if it's normal to work three jobs. "When I can – I watch my sister when my mum's working, and I'll get in some sleep when she's down for a nap."

"What about school? When do you have the time to study?" Harry thinks that Eggsy looks young enough to still be at university. Maybe he's studying science; he does seem to have a little knowledge of entomology.

Eggsy looks at him like he's just grown a second head. "You've got to be kidding. My formal education's been over for about six years – since I got out of high school. This is my life. I make an honest living and so does my mum. My baby sister will be the one who goes to uni and gets a big, fancy degree. I'm going to take your money and put it in a savings account for her to help pay her school fees when she's old enough. She ain't gonna have to be a check out girl at some ASDA or Tesco. She's gonna be a scientist or a lawyer or a doctor or whatever she wants."

Something in Harry's heart melts at that extraordinary speech. He can hear the pride Eggsy has in his sister and how he's wrapped up his own hopes and dreams in that girl, but he'd also heard the longing in Eggsy's voice when he'd asked what it took to be a lepidopterist. Harry checks his watch. "Can you be at my house by four? It's two o'clock now, and I'll be home by then."

Eggsy nods. "Yeah, sure. Four o'clock's fine. Just gotta get the car back to my mate by six."

"I'll see you then."

As Harry heads towards home, he hopes he's not making a mistake – either by letting the young man deliver the books in a few hours instead of taking him up on the offer to drive back to Kensington, or by actually giving him his address instead of making arrangements to pick them up. Merlin would likely tell him he's an idiot.

Thinking about his closest friend gives Harry an idea and he pulls out his cellphone to make a call.

"Are you free this afternoon, can you be at my place by four?"

_"Aye. What's going on?"_

"I bought something and need you on hand when I take delivery."

Merlin sighs and asks, _"What did ye do, Harry?"_

"Nothing terrible; I'm just being overly cautious." Harry then says, with his most put-upon voice, "And if you can't make it, I'm sure everything will be fine."

Which Merlin immediately falls for. _"Last time ye said that, ye found yerself at the altar and made a mistake of epic proportions. I'll be there at three-thirty and ye can tell me what's going on then."_

"I'll owe you one."

_"Macallan 25, that's my going rate for spur-of-the-moment favors."_

"At about seven hundred quid a bottle, I'll want a little more than your stern presence. Do a background check on one Gary Unwin, please and thank you very much. He goes by the nickname 'Eggsy', he's about twenty-four or so, sounds like he's from South London. Although I don't have a name, he told me that his stepfather had been convicted of GBH for trying to kill the young man's mother, and had been killed in prison." He also tells Merlin about the three jobs Eggsy works. 

_"Why do you need this research?"_

Harry gets a little piqued with the questioning and tells Merlin, "Be at my house by three-thirty and I'll explain everything to you then."

_"Ye're an arse, Harry. Don't know why I put up with ye."_

"Because you're an even bigger arse, and I'm your friend, too."

Merlin laughs, _"Fair enough."_

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Eggsy isn't quite sure that he can believe he's sold those books for a veritable fortune. He keeps repeating the numbers, _twenty-five hundred_ to himself like they are some kind of magical talisman. Every so often, he adds _Eleven Stanhope Mews South_ to the chant. It all feels so damn unreal. That's like three times his monthly take home, if he keeps the money for himself, he could stop working the night shift at MacDonald's for a few months.

But he can't; the money's for Daisy's future. Twenty-five hundred pounds now could be a lot of money in the years when his sister needs it. He does the calculations in his head, and a rough estimate brings it to – and he sighs – about four thousand pounds, at two percent compounded. Which is definitely _not_ a lot. He'd need to add money to it regularly, but even with three jobs and no prospect for advancement in any of them, he and his mum are barely scraping by.

Eggsy gets a big cup of tea from the Caffe Nero on the corner and goes back to Jamal's car. He's got another hour before he has to be in Kensington to drop off the books and get the dosh from Harry Hart. 

Now there's something worth thinking about. A posh fucker, but nice. He hadn't talked down to Eggsy because of his accent or because he dresses like the chavs who like to make trouble for anyone who don't look like them or act like them. Harry had seemed genuinely appalled that Eggsy's working three jobs and isn't going to uni, and had been impressed that the money for the books would be saved for Daisy's future.

It doesn't hurt that Mister Hart, Doctor of Philosophy and Director of Acquisitions for the Lepidopteral Catalog at the London Natural History Museum – according to Harry's business card – is fit as fuck and utterly gorgeous. And while Eggsy's never actually pulled an older guy like Harry, Harry's just the kind of man he'd want if he could have him.

The truth is, Eggsy's not really in or out of the closet. His close mates know that he's gay, but he'll pull the birds when he's out with people who aren't that close with him. Which means that Eggsy's got a rep as something of a gentleman around the ladies, because he doesn't pressure 'em for sex all of the time. Eggsy wonders that if the girls ever got together and talked about him they'd realize that he never asks any of 'em to put out and they'd figure it out.

Harry Hart's another story. Eggsy likes smart and Harry's smart as well as gorgeous and Eggsy things he'd just nut in his short if Harry just talked to him, or maybe read from the books to him. In German. He bets Harry speaks German fluently because so much of the early research in the butterfly field is in German. 

Eggsy sips his tea and sighs and dreams. Maybe if his da hadn't gotten himself killed in Iraq, his life would have been different. He might have had a stable childhood and seen some of his dreams come true. Competed in the Olympics and gone to Uni. Studied zoology. Or something else completely different. Eggsy remembers loving school and learning. He'd done well in maths and languages and science and history and literature. He has seven A*'s out of the nine GSCEs he'd sat for, and his counsellors had thought he'd do well at Oxford or Cambridge, but he didn't have the dosh and at the time, he'd cringed at the thought of going to some posh school at getting mocked for his estuary accent.

So he'd stayed home, done odd jobs, fought with his stepda, mostly about not running the bastard's drugs or peddling his ass to pay the rent – until it had gotten unbearable and went into the Marines. His COs had been impressed with him and he might have had a nice career in the military, but Dean had fucked that up, too. His mum had called and begged him to come home; she needed a buffer between her and her increasingly violent husband who hadn't wanted another mouth to feed.

Eggsy had resented Michelle for a little while – making him Dean's punching bag, but when Dean had outright tried to kill Michelle, right in front of Eggsy, that had been it. Eggsy had called the rozzers and had Dean arrested. He'd never grassed on anyone, but Dean had been a special case and earn himself a long prison sentence for attempted murder, GBH, and terroristic threats. Only Dean's muppets had wept when the letter came, announcing that Dean had been killed in prison.

By then, Daisy had arrived and any thought Eggsy had had about returning to the military or going to school had been replaced with the need to care for and protect his baby sister. 

There are times that Eggsy wishes for a different life, but never at the expense of his sister or his mum. But there isn't anything he can do to make things different, so he does what he can to keep his head above water and invests in Daisy's future, because she's the only thing that matters.

It's getting on close to four and if he's going to deliver the books, get paid, and put the money in the bank before returning the car to Jamal, he needs to get going. Eggsy finds Stanhope Mews South without too much of a problem – he'd had enough money to put data on his mobile for the month so he could follow the navigation instructions easily enough – and when he turns onto the block, he has to let out a whistle. It's not ostentatiously posh – not like Mayfair or anything. It's the kind of low-key posh that means old money, the kind of inherited wealth that's in those movies and series his mum loves – the kind filled with titled blokes and names that are in the Doomsday Book, and it makes Eggsy wonder just who Harry Hart really is.

He counts the numbers on the houses and of course, Harry's house is the one right at the end of the block. Jamal's beat-up Toyota is totally out of place here, but that's all right, it'll just be parked long enough for Eggsy to cart up the books and come away with the cash.

Before Eggsy can ring the bell, the door's flung open and it's Harry, smiling and holding a ridiculously small dog. "Hello, again."

"Hey there, Harry. I guess you finished your errands." Eggsy feels like a moron for stating the obvious.

"Yes, I did."

"And who is this?" Eggsy can't resist a dog in any shape or form, as long as they aren't train to be vicious (one of the bastards who lived near him had a pair of German Shepherds who wouldn't bark, but would rip your throat out if you got too close).

Harry smiles and makes an excessively formal introduction, "This is Mr. Pickle." The little black dog starts to squirm and get to Eggsy, but Harry holds him firm. 

Eggsy makes his greetings carefully; little dogs can be even more territorial than big ones. But this beast only seems interested in licking Eggsy, and Eggsy can't help giggling because it's sweet and perfect. And it tickles, too.

"Well, you seem to be Pickle-approved, would you like to come in?"

Eggsy looks back at the car. "It won't get towed? Don't want you to lose your books or the car. Jamal is my best mate, but he'll kill me if he can't get to work tonight."

"Don't worry; you're not parked illegally."

"Won't your neighbor's get pissed off that an old beater's parked on the street?" Eggsy can't afford not to worry.

Harry looks over his shoulder, and Eggsy's surprise to see that someone else is in the house. He had the impression – wrongly it seems – that Harry lived alone. The man who comes and joins them is utterly different from Harry, but just as attractive. 

Eggsy stifles a sigh and thinks, _Well, it's not like you ever had a chance._

"Ye must be Eggsy. Harry's told me about ye. Ye got butterfly books for him?" Of course the bloke's not only gorgeous, but Scottish, too. 

"Yeah, in the car boot. Let me go get them." Eggsy turns and practically runs back to the car. To his dismay, the Scottish dude's right behind him. 

"I'm Merlin, by the way."

Eggsy glances over his shoulder. "For the bird or the wizard?"

Merlin grins. "I don't think anyone's ever asked me that. It's a nickname I'd earned a long time ago. Harry's 'Galahad', just so ye know, and we've got a Percival and a Lancelot, too."

Eggsy can't imagine why Merlin's telling him any of this. He just opens the boot and heaves out one of the crates with the books. "I'll be glad not to be hauling these around anymore." Even as Eggsy says those words, he feels a bit of regret. He'd enjoyed looking through them and matching the specimens he'd rescued from the late Mr. Krasner's flat with the ones in the books. But the sale is the seed money he needs for Daisy's education – no local college is going to be good enough for his sister. Oxford or Cambridge or LSE or Manchester – that's where she's going to go if Eggsy has anything to say about it.

He hefts the crate up to Harry's door and goes back for another – there are four boxes left in the boot, well three now that Merlin's taken one.

Another two trips and the car's empty and the only thing left is for Harry to pay him.

And Harry wants to do just that, "Please, do come into the house – I'd rather not hand you so much cash on the doorstep."

Eggsy figures that this won't take long so he goes inside. This is definitely a house belonging to posh blokes like Harry and Merlin, and clearly they like butterflies – there are specimen boxes all over the place.

"Here you go." Harry holds out an envelope. "Be sure to count it."

As if Eggsy wouldn't double-check that all of the promised money is there. He pulls a stack of bills out that's almost as thick as his little finger. They are all hundred-quid notes and except for the cash that Dean would collect from his muppets, Eggsy's never see so much money in one place. He's never _held_ so much money. There are three paper-clipped bundles and he painstakingly counts out the first thousand, and then the second. It's only when he gets to the third that he looks up at Harry.

"There's too much here." He makes to give the excess back. "You miscounted, it's supposed to be twenty-five hundred, not three thousand."

Harry, though, isn't taking the money back. "I rethought my offer and called one of my rare book dealers. Asked what the price would be for a complete set from 1927 that needs rebinding, but with all of the plates intact. He told me he'd pay at least three thousand for it. Which means he'd sell it for four thousand pounds. I cannot, in good conscience, steal this set from you."

"Bruv – that's not how the world works. You gotta celebrate a bargain, not – " Eggsy's still holding out the extra money.

Harry pushes Eggsy's hand back, cutting him off. "If you hadn't impressed me with your commitment to your family, I might have done just that. Paid you the two thousand you'd originally asked for and had a drink with friends to celebrate the bargain. But I have a conscience – sometimes."

"What kind of freak are you?" Eggsy tries to keep a joking tone, but it's hard. The money means so much but he's not a charity case either.

Harry shrugs, looks over his shoulder at Merlin, then smiles at Eggsy. "I'm the kind of freak who occasionally tries to be better than his former self."

"Now you're misquoting Hemingway at me?" 

Harry looks shocked – and pleased. "Well, aren't you full of surprises. You like Hemingway?"

Eggsy shrugs. "He's all right. Not my favorite, but not the worst in the world." There had been a lit teacher at his comprehensive who'd loved the works of the Lost Generation writers and Eggsy had kind of loved the guy – in the way that young and impressionable students do – and eight years later, he can finally think about the teacher without wanting to die of embarrassment. So he'd read most of Hemingway's books and stories, hated a lot of them, but still found some weird value in his words.

Merlin says, "Take the money, lad. Harry's being generous and that doesn't happen so often."

It seems that Eggsy doesn't have much choice. He lifts up his shirt and tucks the envelope between his belt and his skin; it should be safe there until he can get to an ATM. "You want a receipt or something?"

"You've just read my mind." Harry produces two piece of paper, something he'd must have typed up and printed out while waiting for him, describing the sale. "One copy for your and the other for me."

Eggsy signs them. "Guess this is it, then." He still can't help the grey feelings of regret at letting the books go - even to someone who'd appreciate them far more that he would. "Thanks, though. For everything."

"Thank you, Eggsy. This has been a most delightful transaction." Harry pauses and Eggsy thinks he wants to say something else. Instead, he just holds out his hand.

Eggsy takes it, giving it a firm shake. "Take care, enjoy the books." 

"I will. And Eggsy?"

"Yeah?"

"Take care of yourself. Maybe not all of that money should go for your sister's education. It wouldn't be wrong to treat yourself to something nice." 

"Maybe." But Eggsy doesn't plan to spend a penny on himself, there's nothing he wants more than Daisy to have a better future, and that's going to take a lot more than three thousand quid.

Merlin opens the door for him and Eggsy doesn't hesitate to leave. He hears Merlin say something, but he's all wrapped up in his own thoughts. It's not until he's opening the car door does he realize Merlin's standing next to him.

"Could ye give me a lift home?"

"Home?" 

"Aye – I live in Bloomsbury, unless that's too far out of yer way."

"You don't live here? You don't live with Harry?"

"Other than a six-week stay in his guest room sometime in the Nineties, I haven't - at least, not since our last year at Oxford. And that was a very long time ago."

Eggsy frowns, confused. "Don't that make things kind of awkward?"

"Why? Harry's my closest friend, but – " Merlin laughs. "Wait, ye thought Harry and I? That we're together?"

"Um, yeah?" Then Eggsy remembers Harry saying he has an ex-wife and wants to die of embarrassment at the assumption.

But apparently, his assumption isn't off the mark. Merlin says, "Well, I guess on paper, we'd be a good match, but after six years at Winchester and four at Oxford, I can categorically say that we are absolutely incompatible. For one thing, he drives me nuts. And for another thing, I make him crazy."

There's a whole lot of fondness in Merlin's tone and Eggsy feels himself flushing with embarrassment. "Sorry, just thought – "

"It's all right, lad. Our friends have often puzzled why we're not together – like that – but I'd rather have Harry as a friend than not have him in my life at all. 

"That's nice – to have a good friend like that for so long."

"Aye, it is." Merlin looks back at the door for Eleven Stanhope Mews and says, "Ye know, I believe that there's something I need to discuss with Harry. Thank ye for the offer of a lift home, but I'll call for a cab when I'm done with him."

Before Eggsy can tell the man that he hadn't offered him a ride and Bloomsbury is way out of his way, Merlin is back inside the house and Eggsy's standing there, feeling like an idiot.

He sighs, gets into the car and carefully backs down the street and onto Gloucester Road. His luck holds as someone pulls out of a legal spot in front of the HSBC and Eggsy snags it. He strolls, as casually as possible, into the branch lobby and deposits the dosh from Harry "Too Rich For His Own Good" Hart into a savings account he'd set up with fifty quid the day after Dean had gotten hauled off to one of Her Majesty's prisons. Eggsy had found the cash in one of Dean's trouser pockets when he'd been cleaning all signs of the bastard out of the flat. It's an account in his name, but he'd set it up so that he has to go into the branch with a real check to make a withdrawal. 

Thirty minutes later, he's handing the keys to Jamal and collecting Daisy from the sitter and he tells himself that he has no regrets about anything. For some reason, he's finding it hard to believe today.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Merlin growls, "What do ye mean, ye didn't get the lad's telephone number?"

Harry downs the scotch and says very clearly, very distinctly, in the manner of the very nearly intoxicated, "I don't think I'll need it."

"He's yers for the taking, Galahad."

Harry winces at the old nickname. "Don't call me that."

Merlin is relentless, "Do ye want me to get his number for ye? I know where he lives; it won't be hard to look up any number attached to that address."

"Using your powers for good now?"

"Well, ye asked me to do a background check on him."

Harry had done that, hadn't he? 

Merlin keeps pushing at him. "It would na take much to get a mobile number, even a pre-paid one. It's what I do."

That is exactly what Merlin does; he calls himself an "information specialist", but he's a mostly white hat hacker, at least when certain alpha-numeric government agencies come calling.

"The lad had been rather jealous at the thought that the two of us are a couple, he thought I lived here with ye. Didn't say anything, but I could see how jealous he was - it was in his eyes."

Harry reaches for the Scotch and pours another measure. "Ugh. That's just – " He shudders theatrically at the idea of him and Merlin as a couple. 

"Oh, come on. We did try it on for a while."

"Then I had spent the next half-decade trying to convince myself I was straight." 

Merlin doesn't have snarky reply to that. Instead, he repeats the offer. "Let me find his mobile number for ye."

"And that's not creepy or stalkerish? Just how would I explain to Eggsy how I'd gotten his number? Gaslight him into believing that he'd given it to me?"

"Ye have a fair point there."

"You might be mistaken about the jealousy. What's the likelihood of him being gay?" Harry sniffs and finishes the Scotch. "Besides, I'm twice his age." 

"I don't think that matters to the lad, who definitely is gay. He has the hots for ye, and I could see ye panting over that very fine ass of his. There's no reason in the world why ye can't hook up."

"Because I'm too old for hookups, Merlin. Too old and too set in my ways."

"No, Harry, ye're not. Ye only think that ye are. Yer more than just a middle-aged man interested in butterflies, Harry. Ye've got hobbies and interests and ye know how to have fun."

Harry doesn't say anything, if he does, Merlin's going to bring up his occasional forays onto the dance floors in certain Camden nightclubs. "I'm still not going to take you up on your offer."

"If ye ever change yer mind …" Merlin doesn't need to complete that sentence.

Over the next few month, despite Merlin's occasional badgering, Harry doesn't change his mind. And Merlin's not the only one who thinks he'd been an idiot not to get Eggsy's phone number. Over lunch with his ex, Victoria, he mentions that he'd managed to acquire a replacement set of _Die Großschmetterlinge der Erde_.

"Really? Don't tell me that you'd managed to pry your original set out of Chester's greedy hands." 

"No, of course not. He despises me and he's still too afraid you'll rip his ancient and wrinkly balls off if he does."

"That wasn't very well done of me, was it? To take your books and then threaten Chester when I sold them to him."

Harry just sighs, this is well-gone over territory. "You were hurt. I hurt you badly."

"Yes, but it hadn't been heartbreak but lost pride. When you had proposed to me, I'd seen it a way out of a lonely life. I deluded myself into thinking it had been a grand passion for my sagging tits and flat ass. You didn't want those, you just wanted respectability." 

"Darling, you were absolutely glorious at forty-five, not a bit of sag on you. You even managed to do the impossible for a few months." 

Victoria chuckles, the sound as sultry now at sixty-seven as it had been when they'd first meet all those years ago. "Yes, getting you to somewhat enthusiastically fuck pussy had been quite the feat."

Harry flushes at her crudity.

"So, tell me – if Chester didn't sell your set back to you, where did you find it?"

Harry relays the tale of walking through a pop-up market not too far from Notting Hill and finding the books.

Victoria must hear something in his voice, because she starts asking questions about the seller. "So tell me about this young man."

"What's there to tell? He found the books and I offered him a fair price. I had called James and he said he or Alastair would pay three thousand for them, so that's way I gave the boy."

"Why do that? Why not just give him a few hundred pounds and let him think he'd gotten a windfall. It's not like _the boy_ had spent anything for them."

"He told me he needs the money for his sister – saving it for her education."

"And you believed him?"

"His story checked out – Merlin ran a background check."

"All for a simple transaction?"

"Well, I had him deliver the books to the house. He would be coming inside and it seemed foolish not to take precautions. I even had Merlin there as backup." Since Victoria has often accused him of being too unaware of his own personal safety, Harry thinks she'll be impressed by this. 

Unfortunately, while she does applaud him for being security conscious, she also sees it as an opportunity to make mischief. "I'm now going to have to call Merlin and find out what he thinks of your pretty little book dealer."

"I didn't say that he's pretty."

"Oh, Harry, I know you and I know how you get when you find a rare species of butterfly."

"The point is moot, Victoria. I didn't get his number and while I might know where he lives, I'm certainly not going to go track him down."

"Why not?"

Harry shakes his head. "Because it would be wrong, all right?" He's not going to enumerate all of the reasons and let Victoria knock them down like so many bowling pins, just as Merlin had.

"You're too young to be acting like such an old man."

"I'm acting like a responsible adult who doesn't want to get hauled before a judge for invasion of privacy and stalking."

"You're a peer of the realm, darling. No one in their right mind would do that."

"What century are you living in, _darling?_ The world just exists for such scandal. Can't you just see the tabloid headlines? _Baron wears his Hart on his sleeve_ or something just as equally foolish." 

"I suppose you're right, and it's not like you really know anything about the young man."

Harry knows far too much – Merlin had done a fairly deep dive on Eggsy – but he's not going to tell Victoria that. "Let's please change the subject. Tell me how Ivan's doing." Ivan Simanov is Victoria's second husband, a Russian oligarch who is almost stupidly in love with his wife. Even though he'd introduced Ivan to Victoria at a fundraising event for the Museum, Harry often feels as if he'll get diabetes if he spends too much time in their company.

"I see what you're doing, Harry. But I will allow myself to be distracted, if just because I want to make you just the tiniest bit jealous."

"Darling, you know that ship has not only sailed, but it's now resting on the floor of the Atlantic, right next to the Titanic."

"Silly man, not of Ivan, but of what we have and what you don't."

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::


	2. Chapter 2

"Babe, you awake?"

Eggsy groans and rolls over, picks up his phone and squints at it. It's a little before seven, which means he's had about four hours sleep. He'd gotten home from his shift at MacDonald's and didn't even bother to get undressed before collapsing on his bed. He reeks of fried meat. 

Despite the stench, the temptation to go back to sleep is almost irresistible, but his mum taps on the door. "Need to talk to you, babe."

_That doesn't sound good._

"Do I have time for shower?"

"A quick one. Since you're home today, I picked up an extra shift and have to be at the hospital soon."

"All right. I'll be there in a few."

Eggsy rushes through a shower and throws on a clean pair of trackies and a vest before stumbling into the main room of their flat. At least his mum make a pot of coffee.

He pours a cup and drinks it black. There's no point in taking a seat since he'll need a refill in about a minute. "What's up?"

"Sit down, babe."

His mum sound way too serious, so Eggsy tops off his cup and drops into the chair across from her. "What's the matter? What's wrong?" As he asks, Eggsy mentally reviews which bills still have to be paid, but can't think of any that are in the dire category. "Is Daisy sick? You?"

"No, nothing's wrong."

"Then what's with the 'we have to talk' deal? That sounds like something's wrong."

Michelle makes a face. "It's good news."

"Really, mum? Because you look like we got to put on black clothes and head to the cemetery."

"No, really. It's just that I've kind of been making plans and not telling you."

"Plans?" Eggsy wonders if Michelle's been seeing another loser. "What's going on?"

"Do you remember your Aunt Amy?"

"Your sis? The one who packed up and moved to the other side of the world?" Eggsy remembers her very well. Amy had stepped in after his da had been killed and kept Michelle from following Lee into the grave. He'd been fourteen when she'd met a bird from Wellington – a doctor at the hospital where his mum and his aunt had both worked – and ended up following her to New Zealand when her residency had ended. Michelle had been furious at being abandoned like that and had refused to stay in contact.

"Yeah. Amy sent a letter to me a couple of months ago and we've been Skyping a lot. Her wife died last year."

"Ah, I'm sorry."

"Yeah, so am I. I behaved like a selfish bitch to her, but she's forgiven me."

"And?"

Michelle bites her lip.

"Mum?"

"Amy's asked if we'd think about moving out there. Me and Daisy. And you. Get a new start on life."

"To New Zealand?" Eggsy tries to wrap his head around the idea, but he can't seem to make the idea work.

"Yeah. We'd live with Amy – she's got a big house and everything. She don't want to come back here, says it would be like hitting the rewind button on her life. And that I could do really well there. I've already starting the process to get my nursing license transferred over there. It wouldn't be hard to get a good job in a nice, clean hospital or even private duty or in a medical office – the need experienced nurses. I'd be able to Daisy in a good school, with small classes, not like the zoo he'd have to attend here. It could be the best thing that happened to us."

Eggsy doesn't disagree, but he also doesn't hear what would be in it for him. "I wouldn't go there and just loaf around. I'd need a job, too." The problem is that he really isn't qualified for anything more than what he's already doing, not without a university degree.

"I'm sure you could find one, babe. And you wouldn't have to work three jobs and barely make ends meet – Amy wouldn't take money for rent from us."

Eggsy shakes his head. "No, that's not how it works for me, mum. I'm a grown man, I pay my way. I ain't sponging off of anyone."

"Oh, my Egg. You're such a good boy." Michelle reaches out and hugs him.

He lets her hold him for a bit before squirming loose. "Would you go without me?"

There's something in his mum's eyes, something that looks a little too much like relief for Eggsy's comfort. But she says, "And leave you behind? You're my baby, how can I do that?"

"Like I said, I'm a grown man. I'm twenty-four, I've been working since I was sixteen. I could find someplace with Ryan or Jamal and we'd be able to split the rent. Maybe take a few evening classes, get a degree eventually." He deliberately doesn't think about the money that's sitting in the savings account, money he'd never told his mum about. The money that's supposed to be for Daisy's education.

"And you'd be all on your own, babe. Do you want that?"

Eggsy scrubs at his face. "I dunno. I keep feeling like it's time? Like I need to step up more? Do more?"

"You do so much – you work three jobs so we can have a roof over our heads, you go without so Daisy and I have more. I feel guilty about letting you carry such a big burden. It's just that if I worked more, Daisy would be spending all of her time with baby sitters, and that's not good for her."

"No, it ain't. I don't want you working extra shifts, not when I can provide." Eggsy can't ever forget the day they brought the news that his da had been killed in action in Iraq. A man in a uniform, with a chest full of medals, had come to the flat. He'd been kind, had asked Eggsy his name, and then told him to take care of his mum, he was the man of the house now. Eggsy had taken that role very seriously, even when Amy had been around, and especially after she'd left. He'd tried so hard to tell his mum just how wrong Dean was, but she'd been so happy to have a man in her life, someone who seemed to be such a good provider. That hadn't lasted, of course.

"You really want to stay here and let us go to the other side of the world?"

Eggsy tries to wrap his brain around it, but he can't. "I don't know, mum. Can I think about it?"

"Of course, babe. I want you to be happy, too."

Eggsy takes his coffee back to his bedroom and tries to process what has just happened. He spends the day processing it, taking Daisy out for a long walk down to a part more suitable for playtime than the drug-infested one one close to home. He thinks about it while pushing Daisy on the swings and watching her play tag with the other little kids. He keeps thinking about it when he gets them lunch at a small sandwich shop. And he finally comes to a decision while holding his sleepy, worn-out sister on the tube ride back home.

Michelle comes home a few hours before Eggsy has to leave for his shift at Tesco. He fixes some tea for her while she goes to take a shower and change into civvies. Daisy's in her room, playing quietly. This is usually their time to talk, but he lets her finishing eating before saying anything.

"I've been thinking real hard about what you told me this morning. About New Zealand."

"And?" Michelle has her cup of tea poised at her lips. "You come to a decision?"

Eggsy nods. "I think it's a good idea. I think it's the best for you and for Dais."

"But not for you, babe?"

"No, not for me. I want the two of you to go there and have the best possible life. You can't have that here, not unless we leave London for someplace else, someplace cheaper to live."

"Not happening. I have friends here."

"Which you're willing to say goodbye to if you go overseas."

"But I'll have Amy – and she'll have me, like we were when we were kids. She's not doing great and I want to be able to pay back what she gave us. My friends didn't stand up for me – not like my sister did, and I was just too selfish to see that."

Eggsy doesn't think his mum's making much sense, but that's all right. She doesn't have to.

"Can I say something, babe? Something that might sound hurtful but it isn't."

"Of course, you're my mum, you wouldn't hurt me." _Now_. Eggsy feels a bit ashamed of that last thought, but it's only the truth.

"I'm glad you're not coming with me and Daisy."

Eggsy blinks. And he is hurt. "Why?"

"I've taken so much from you, babe. You say I'd never hurt you, but I did. I stole so much of your childhood. I wasn't much of a mum when you needed me. And then I let Dean into our lives. You don't think I didn't see what he did to you, and I was – " Michelle sucks in a deep breath. "I was grateful that you keep standing between him and me when I should have been standing between him and you. And then you came home because I still needed you to stand between us – I figured that you'd be big and strong from your time with the Marines, and well – you got strong. You won't ever be big."

They both chuckle.

"Babe – if you come with us, it'll be great. But you deserve something for yourself. You're brilliant and you should be able to do something with that – go to uni, it's not too late. Get a good job where you can wear a suit and tie and make pots of money and tell people what to do. I want you to be happy, and I don't think that'll ever be really possible if you spend your whole life looking after me and your sister. If you stay here, you'll be able to live for yourself. That's why I'm happy you're not coming to New Zealand."

Eggsy nods. "I'm going to miss you both like hell. It's going to be lonely without you and Daisy."

"And I'll miss you too, my little Egg. So will Daisy. But we'll talk every week, we'll Skype so you can always see how big Daisy's getting. And there are these marvelous things called airplanes, and you can use them to come for a visit."

They both laugh and Eggsy knows, down to his bones, that this is the right decision for all of them. "And you can get Daisy the dog she's always wanted."

"You mean, the dog _you've_ always wanted."

"Yeah, mebbe." Eggsy starts thinking about all of the practicalities. "So, what do we have to do to make this happen?" He goes and gets a pen and a notepad and they start making lists.

Six weeks later, Amy buys business-class tickets for Michelle and Daisy, and it all moves from the theoretical to the real. Eggsy's spent as much time as he can with his sister, taking her everywhere, giving her all of his love and making memories that he hopes will last him a very long time. He fills up his phone with pictures and little videos of everyone, mundane things that will have to keep him going when he's lonely and angry and needs his family more than he needs to breathe.

A week before the big trip, Michelle sends a letter to the building management company, letting them know she won't be renewing her lease. Eggsy will have about four months after that to find a new place, and while Ryan and Jamal have quashed the idea of moving out of South London with him, Eggsy knows he can't stay here, and the rest of London's too expensive. Maybe he'll go north, to Manchester or York, or west, to Oxford or Cardiff. Someplace where he can go to school and work, maybe apply for grants. He makes a note to get copies of his high school transcripts, he'll need that if he's serious about this college thing.

The big day finally comes, and Daisy is fearful and fretting. They'd done their best to keep the disruptions to her life to a minimum, but when it comes time to pack toys and all the familiar trappings of her little world, the cracks start to show. 

"Don wanna go! Don wanna go!" Daisy's tantrum is piercing and heartbreaking, and as much as Eggsy wants to calm her with promises he isn't sure he'll be able to keep, he just holds her tightly and lets her cry herself into exhaustion. If his own tears slip into Daisy's hair, she's so soaked with perspiration; she doesn't realize her big bruv is crying, too.

Eventually, Daisy's wails are muted into little hiccoughing snuffles and then into tiny snores. Eggsy looks over Daisy's sleeping body at his mum and says, "It's time."

She nods, and picks up the last bag – the rest of them are downstairs, watched over by a few of Michelle's friends, who've come to see them off. "Car's probably here."

It is, waiting at the curb. 

Michelle makes her goodbyes to her friends as Eggsy and the driver load up the car, and finally they all get going. A few hours later, Eggsy's back at the flat and he feels all hollowed out, heartsick and for the first time since he'd told Michelle she should go to New Zealand, he's unsure that he's done the right thing.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

"Quiet afternoon?" Harry returns from a board meeting and stops at his admin's desk for the usual stack of letters he needs to sign, reports he has to review, and telephone messages that have to be answered.

Charles, his administrative assistant for the last three years, hands him a folder. "It's been a quiet afternoon, and I was able to finish all of the reports you asked for. The phone rang for you just once; I probably wasted ink taking the message, but I know your rules. The message is inside the folder."

Harry nods and forebears to comment. Early in his tenure, Charles had made a number of assumptions about people calling for Harry and refused to pass on messages, and in one case, that gatekeeping and prejudice had cost the museum a donation from an up-and-coming musician from South London. Now, he diligently takes down messages from every caller and never fails to let Harry know that, often with a hint of snobbish displeasure.

"Thank you. I'll return the reports before I leave for the day." Harry goes into his office and shuts the door behind him. Charles is calm and efficient and reporting everything that's the least bit interesting to his uncle, Chester, who has an honorary position of the Museum's Board of Directors. Harry wonders why he doesn't mind, probably because he doesn't want to have to go through the effort to train a replacement.

He opens the file and sees the pink message slip; Harry sets it aside without reading it. As a man who functions best if he approaches things in a set order, he reviews the documents, makes a number of corrections and changes and puts them back into the file. He'll leave them on Charles desk for redrafts. Harry then checks his email, replies as needed, files off what no longer belongs in his inbox, sends a few messages of his own, and then types up his notes from the meeting.

Only then, two hours later, does Harry look at the phone message. At first, he doesn't recognize the name – Gary Umwin. No, _Unwin_ , and while the last name is familiar, the first isn't. Then he remembers…

_"My name's Eggsy – Eggsy Unwin. Well, my real name's Gary but not even my mum calls me that."_

Eggsy.

For the first few months after he'd bought the books from Eggsy, Harry couldn't stop thinking about the young man. He'd come so close to giving into temptation and going to see him, but he couldn't; it would mean explaining too many things. Merlin had even done just what Harry had asked him _not_ to do, and found Eggsy's pay-as-you-go mobile number. Merlin had even gone through Eggsy's personal data and reported - with great glee - that the lad enjoys the very gay side of PornHub and has a thing for older men fucking young lads. Information that Harry definitely hadn't wanted to know.

Harry had deleted the email and purged the trash before he could change his mind.

The last two or three months, he's thought of Eggsy just a little less frequently; although he had a brief resurgence after he'd picked up the rebound set of books from James and Alastair. It had passed and once again, the young man had become a pleasant memory, something to have sweet dreams about with only the tiniest bit of guilt. But now, seeing his name on that slip of paper, brings back that initial rush of interest, the attraction he'd felt, the respect he'd had for Eggsy's commitment to his sister's future. 

It's close to five and Harry wonders if Eggsy's at one of the awful jobs he has, but he dials anyway.

_"Hello?"_

Harry's so prepared to leave a message that he's shocked when someone answers. He recovers quickly, and asks, "May I speak with Eggsy Unwin, please?"

_"Harry? Harry Hart?"_

"Yes, Eggsy. I'm returning your call. I hope you're well." As curious as Harry is about why Eggsy had called him, good manners mean that he has to make some small talk.

_"Doin' okay."_

There's a note of exhaustion in Eggsy's voice that worries Harry. "Is your family all right?"

Eggsy doesn't answer right away. _"Yeah, they're doing great. Really good."_

"I hope I'm not interrupting you at work."

_"Nope, got home a little while ago. Have the night off. Suppose you're wondering what I called."_

"Yes, that had crossed my mind."

_"Remember I said I saved a bunch of my neighbor's books and journal and his specimen boxes?"_

"I do." Harry doesn't think he's going to like where this conversation is going.

_"Yeah, well – see – I'm going to be moving in a couple of weeks, and I can't take this stuff with me – won't have room for it. Thought maybe I could donate it or something. To the museum, or if you know someone who'd want some of this stuff."_

"You don't want to sell the items?"

_"Don't think any of it has much value. Don't collectors like to get their specimens _in pupae_ and do the killing themselves?"_

"Generally, yes, but if it's a rare species, it would be irresponsible to kill one." Harry can think of several dozen gaps in the museum's collection that will never be filled unless they acquire already mounted specimens. Although it's unlikely that Eggsy's in possession of any of those.

That's not to say that Harry won't buy the boxes, or anything that Eggsy needs to part with, anyway. "I'm glad you called. I've been thinking about you."

_"You have?"_

There's so much surprised hope in Eggsy's voice; it makes Harry ache. "I have. I'd just picked up the books you sold me a few weeks ago. I had them rebound."

_"They're good?"_

"Very good, Eggsy. I'm happier with this set than the one my ex-wife had claimed." That is the truth – his original 1927 editions had been too pristine, too clean to really use as a reference tool, and while the books have been reprinted, the small and supremely practical paperbacks curdle Harry's soul and he'd rather do without than give them shelf space. "Are you free this evening? We could meet somewhere for dinner."

Eggsy sighs, _"Like to say yeah, but I'm really beat. Worked back to back to back shifts since Sunday and if I don't get some sleep in my own bed, I'll probably face plant in a dinner plate. But I'm free tomorrow after two."_

Harry checks his calendar; he has a lunch meeting with the Director of Entomology at the London Zoo, and planned to cap the day with a walk through his favorite exhibit. "If I leave a ticket for you at the gate, would you like to meet me at Butterfly Paradise at the London Zoo? There's a bench at the entrance to the pupa display cabinet that's easy to find. I have a meeting at one that will take about two hours, so I could meet you there when I'm done and we can have a late lunch or early supper if you'd like."

_"Yeah, I can meet you tomorrow. And I know where that bench is – took my sis to Butterfly Paradise a few times, and we'd rest there. But what about the stuff I've got? Don't want to haul it around."_

About butterflies, Harry is the soul of practicality. "If you can take some pictures of what you have, I'll let you know what they're worth and if either the museum or the zoo would be interested in purchasing them, or if I can broker a sale to a private collector." 

_"That's smart. Must be too tired, should have thought of that first."_

"No worries." Harry hears Eggsy yawn. "Now, go get some sleep. I'll see you tomorrow."

_"Yeah, looking forward to it."_

Harry disconnects and stares at his phone. There's something wrong with Eggsy, he's sure of it. The boy sounds more than tired, he sounds sad and beaten down, like the world is crushing him. And the news that he has to move is disturbing. Council housing is hard to get, but once you're in, you almost never have to leave. He's tempted to call Merlin and have him find out why Eggsy and his family are moving out.

And if he doesn't have room in his new place, maybe that's a roundabout way of says he just doesn't have a new place and the family will be homeless. 

Harry doesn't even bother to debate with himself and calls Merlin. "Remember that young man I bought those books from?"

_"The one who was panting over ye, and ye refused to do anything about?"_

"Yes, that one."

_"What happened? Did ye finally call him?"_ Merlin sounds skeptical. _"Thought ye deleted the email with the number I got for ye."_

"No, he called me, and now I'm worried. He said he'll be moving in about a month, and you know that no one has to leave council housing unless they're severely delinquent on the rent."

_"And ye want me to look into it?"_

"Please." Harry doesn't want to think about what's putting Eggsy into such dire straits, but if there's anything he can do to help, he's going to do it.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Eggsy arrives at the Zoo a few minutes early, and as promised, there's a ticket waiting for him at the main gate. He feels a bit guilty about that, since he can pay his way. With his mum and sister in New Zealand, and him working more hours than ever, he has a bit of dosh to burn, but thirty quid is a bit more than pocket change and Eggsy's trying to save every penny he can. So he'll thank Harry and that will be that.

Since it's a weekday and well into the school year, there are class groups all over the place. It's a bit of a struggle to get past the hordes of children crowning the walkways. Eggsy gets rammed and head butted and once, a boy nearly takes out his nuts with an elbow, but he eventually gets to Butterfly Paradise, which has a much more controlled admission. It's not too far to where he's supposed to meet Harry, and when he gets there, Eggsy's relieved that the bench is unoccupied. He's a bit early and still a bit tired.

Eggsy takes a seat and pulls out his phone. Yesterday, his mum sent a new batch of pictures. In an odd bit of symmetry, Michelle and Amy had taken Daisy to the Wellington Zoo, and Eggsy aches as he sees his baby sister happy and smiling and so unafraid. He knows she doesn’t remember much about Dean, but there had always been things that had scared her – the big cats, the elephants, the noisy monkeys. She'd hated anything that was too loud, and she'd hide her face in Eggsy's neck as soon as she'd gotten scared.

Looking at her now, pulling her aunt and mum towards the tigers, she doesn't seem like the same child. Amazing what three months in a new environment can do. He flips through the pictures, lets a small video clip play and feels his cheeks get wet as Daisy screeches, "Love you Eggsy" and tries to kiss the camera. He wipes his face with the back of his sleeve and puts the phone away. Can't looks like an idiot when Harry arrives.

Except that Harry's already arrived.

"Eggsy? Are you all right?"

Eggsy pastes a smile on his face and gets to his feet. "Yeah, fine. Sorry – something got in my eye."

Harry doesn't look convinced, but he doesn't call him on the lie, either. "Thank you for meeting me here. I had another meeting and figured it would be nice to see you among the butterflies." He gestures around them.

"Yeah, this is one of my favorite parts of the Zoo. It's nice and peaceful." 

"May I show you a few of my favorite specimens? If you wouldn't find it too boring."

"You kidding me? Pass up a chance to hear from Britain's foremost expert on South East Asian Macrolepidoptera? I looked you up; you have an impressive Wikipedia page."

"I do?"

"You don't know about it?"

"I honestly had no clue."

Eggsy pulls out is phone, grateful that he'd sprung for a data package this month. He'd added Harry Hart's Wikipedia entry to his browser favorites and easily launches the page. "Here you go, bruv." Before he turns over the phone, Eggsy adds with a cheeky wink, "Or should I say, 'Baron'?" 

Harry takes a brief look at the phone before handing it back. "Please, for love of all that's holy, don't. The title will die with me, thank god."

Eggsy looks at Harry with surprise. "You a radical? Didn't see that coming."

"The title was an honor – and I use that term very loosely – granted to my great-great-grandfather for his efforts to denude vast swaths of India of its old-growth hardwoods. As a conservationist and a naturalist, I am appalled by that legacy."

As surprised as Eggsy is that Harry doesn't hold the title dearly, he can agree with that sentiment. "And you do what you can to fix it."

"I try." Harry holds out his arm and kind of corrals Eggsy down the path, pointing out a variety of species of butterfly, providing anecdotes about the habitats and mating requirements. Eggsy has only the barest knowledge of butterflies, so he doesn't want to interrupt with foolish questions, but Harry so clearly enjoys talking about the subject and in a way that makes it impossible not to ask.

They are both surprised when a docent approaches and tells them that the gates will be closing in ten minutes.

Harry looks at his watch. "Where did the last two hours go?"

"Bruv, you really know your stuff and I had a great time listening to you." Eggsy could listen to Harry talk for hours. Not because he's a posh bloke with a posh accent, but because he's so _enthusiastic_ about his subject – which is so fucking sweet and awesome. Eggsy had only talked to old Mr. Krasner a few times, and the man had been more than a bit nasty and secretive, scurrying through the building, head down and avoiding eye contact with everyone. Even when Eggsy had stepped between the old man and Dean once or twice, Mr. Krasner had still been unpleasant to him.

Harry Hart, though, is just the opposite. He wants to talk about what he loves and wants Eggsy to be just as enthusiastic. That might not be possible, but Eggsy has enjoyed these past few hours more than anything since Mum and Daisy had left.

"Would you like to join me for dinner?"

Eggsy blinks – is Harry asking him out on a date?

"After all, we still need to talk about the collection you have to part with."

_Ah, right._ "Yeah, dinner sounds good. But nothing fancy."

"Of course not. There happens to be a nice pizzeria a few blocks from the gate. They do a very lovely New York style pie."

Eggsy nods. He doesn't know what makes pizza "New York style", but if it's pizza, it can't be bad.

They walk through the Zoo, and then Regent's Park, to the pizzeria, and it's a little hole-in-the-wall kind of place, redolent of garlic and tomato sauce and baking bread. Eggsy's stomach rumbles, his mouth waters, and he's hungry for the first time in what feels like weeks.

"Do you know what you want?" Harry points him to the array of pizzas that are on display behind the counter. 

"Umm, a slice with meatballs?"

"That's it?"

"Maybe a slice with nothing on it?"

Harry nods in approval. "A regular, they call it in New York. And to drink?"

"Coke, I guess." 

"You wouldn't prefer a beer?"

Eggsy feels his face ache and he realizes that he's grinning – another thing he's become unaccustomed to doing – and says, "Hell, yeah."

Harry places the order for four slices – he gets a regular slice and a sausage slice and two bottles of Peroni, a brand of beer that Eggsy's never had before. 

The counterman says that he'll bring it out when the slices are hot and they should just take a seat. Harry guides Eggsy to a booth in the back of the shop and takes off his jacket before sitting down. He tucks his tie into his shirt, explaining, "Eating pizza New York style is a messy affair sometimes." 

"You been to New York? Eat a lot of pizza there?"

"I'm been there several times. Usually for conferences and always manage to make time for pizza, very often to my colleagues' gustatory despair. They would want to go to four-star restaurants on their institution's per diem, but I don't like wasting the museum's money like that. So I'll always take off for a few slices at the Original Ray's or Lombardi's. Same with Chinese – better off heading to the noodle and dim sum shops in Chinatown than spending a fortune at the fancy white tablecloth places."

Eggsy just nods, having no frame of reference for Harry's experiences. "What's your favorite thing about New York?"

Harry thinks for a moment. "Probably the people."

"Really? People are people, ain't they?"

"People – as a collective – are a product of their environment. And New Yorkers, collectively, are loud and brash and vibrant in a way the Londoners aren't. They have a bad reputation, but they are kinder to strangers than almost anyone I've encountered in London. Of course, after they've helped you, they're just as likely to tell you to fuck off."

Eggsy laughs. "Cool."

They chat a bit more, Eggsy asks about where else Harry's traveled, and Harry's nice and patient and tells funny stories. Eggsy sighs a bit and wishes that he could see some of those places. 

The food and beer arrive and to Eggsy's utter astonishment, Harry rejects the offer of glasses for their beer. "Unless you'd prefer a glass?"

"Hell no!" Eggsy grins and Harry smiles back, and the warmth Eggsy feels in the pit of his stomach has nothing to do with his appetite. For food, at least.

Harry waves at the food. "Dig in."

Eggsy realizes that there aren't any utensils, but then he sees Harry pick up one of the slices and fold it in half before taking a bite, so he does the same.

This is unlike any pizza he's had before, the pizza is chewy, not crunchy and it holds the weight of the sauce and cheese, which is why a knife and fork are unnecessary. It's also messy, as Harry had warned, with sauce and the oil from the cheese dripping onto his hands, smearing around his lips. It's unutterably delicious and satisfying, and the cold beer Harry had chosen is sharp and light and refreshing; he's grateful when Harry signals for another round. 

Eggsy devours every bite of crust and thinks that he couldn't eat another bite but another slice would be lovely, too. He wipes his hands with yet another napkin and leans back in his seat, replete and happy. Harry finishes and does the same, tossing his paper napkin onto the tray. 

"That was excellent. I've had pizza in many places, but this style is my favorite, and Carlo's is the best in London." 

Harry's voice carries and the counterman laughs. "Thanks for the compliment, bruv, but those two extra beers aren't on the house."

Harry calls back, "Of course not. They never are."

Eggsy laughs and figures that because Harry's paid for the pizza and the first round, the least he can do is pick up the tab for the second round.

"Excuse me." Harry picks up the tray and deposits it by the trashcan and comes back. He sits down and gets a serious look on his face. "Now, tell me, what's going on."

Eggsy freezes. "What do you mean?"

"You mentioned that you've lost your home, and frankly, you look rather unwell, so I'm a bit worried about you."

"Why?" Eggsy can't imagine why a virtual stranger would be the least bit concerned about him.

"Why not?"

"Dunno. You just bought some books from me, that don't exactly make us friends."

Harry sighs. "That is a perfectly true and correct summary of the extent of our relationship, and yet – " He makes a bit of a face, "I can't help but feel there's a bit of a connection between us? But then, I've always been the fanciful kind, seeing things not so much as they are, but as I'd like them to be."

Shaken, Eggsy reaches for his beer and swallows the last of it. "I – uh – don't think you're wrong?"

Harry's smile is blinding, for all that it's just a slight upward curve of his lips. "Good. I'm glad you feel that way, too. Which means that we're friends, despite the brevity of our original encounter."

Eggsy can't help feel the heat that burns across his cheeks and the joy he feels at Harry's odd and overly formal declaration. "Yeah, I guess we're friends."

"Good. Now, tell me what's going on. If we are friends, then you should share your problems with me."

"Bruv, you really need a minder or something, because someone's going to take advantage of you if you declare friendship with almost total strangers and offer to listen to their problems. Or you're going to put a bunch of bartenders out of their jobs. Shrinks, too."

Harry shakes his head. "You are the only 'almost total stranger' I've ever wanted to be friends with. All of my other friends are people I've known for decades. Merlin and I were at public school together. I became friends with James and Alastair when we were at Oxford. Victoria, my ex-wife – well, I've known her for twenty years. There isn't anyone else in my life that I call friend. Well, other than Mr. Pickle."

"He's a dog."

"Exactly my point. Now, stop deflecting and talk to me."

Eggsy wants to keep pushing back, but Harry's not going to let this go. And he does really want to be friends with Harry, who seems to see a lot more than the guys he's been friends with since grade school. "My mum and my sister emigrated to New Zealand about three months ago." There, he said it. Not like it's a big secret or anything. 

Harry looks utterly gobsmacked. "They just up and left you?"

"No, nothing like that, they just didn't run away in the middle of the night. They had a chance to make a new life – my aunt lives in Wellington and she'd asked them to come over. I – I wanted to stay here. Didn't want to go with 'em."

"Can you tell me why?"

Eggsy struggles to find the words. "I ain't much of anything, no real skills, no education beyond high school. I go with them, what am I gonna do? Stock shelves in a grocery? Work in the local Maccy D's? Do the same crap jobs that I'm doing here? Or I'll be sponging off my aunt. I thought, maybe, if I stayed behind, I could find a cheap flat, go to school, get a degree. Maybe have a life that's more than dead-end jobs. Mum's lease ends in a couple of weeks and I ain't been able to find a place that doesn't want a ton of cash for a deposit. I'd thought my friends would want to move in with me, but they've all got cushy places in the Estates – if anything can be called cushy in that hell-hole. Guess they don't want to have to pay rent or anything."

Eggsy can see the words before Harry even says them. "And I ain't touching the money from the books. That's for my sister – even if she grows up on the other side of the world, she can still come back here for school. Or it'll be for her college in the Antipodes."

"All right, I won't say anything more on that score. So you are working your ass off to get the money for a deposit on a flat and school fees?"

"Yeah. I don't think school will be possible for a few more years, but if I don't find a place soon, I'm going to be couch surfing for a bit. Which is why I called you, wanted to see if you'd take old Mr. Krasner's stuff, or know someone who'd want it. Seems a shame to have to throw it out."

"Mr. Krasner?"

"Yeah, my neighbor – the one who'd died, and where I got the butterfly books and the shadow boxes and the magazines and stuff."

Harry gets an odd look in his eyes, like curiosity and eagerness. Eggsy had seen the same thing when he'd bring home new library books for Daisy. Harry then asks a strange question, "Was his first name Adrien?"

Eggsy shrugs. "Dunno." Then he remembers seeing the address label for "A. Krasner" on some of the magazines. "Maybe? Did you know him?"

"Adrien Krasner had been something of a legend in the field. In the sixties and seventies, he'd discovered several new species – which is the goal of every lepidopterist. In eighty-four, he'd had a falling out with the Royal Society – something of a scandal regarding the theft of research. It was a bit before my time, but – " Harry laughs, "Ironically, the man he'd accused of stealing his work had been the one who'd bought my set of Macrolepidoptera after my ex took it."

Eggsy can't believe the coincidence, or that the old man who lived down the hall from him had been a famous scientist. "So, now you've got _his_ books. Funny how the world works."

"Yes, very funny." Harry shakes his head. "I don't suppose you'd saved any of his papers?"

Eggsy nods. "Yeah, I have some of his journals – looks like field journals, from when he was traveling around America in the '70s. Half of its in German, other half in English, and what I could read had seemed like scientific gobbledygook, but maybe it'll mean something to you." 

"You may have just have been holding onto the Holy Grail. Those journals are just as valuable as the specimens, maybe more so. This is certainly going to set the cat among the pigeons."

"What do you mean?"

"Adrien Krasner didn't exactly lose his case against Chester King, he'd just decided he didn't trust academia and told the entire Royal Society to go fuck themselves. After that, Chester had tried to smear Krasner's name and reputation, but Krasner's work is still considered seminal. His specimens would have value just because he'd mounted them. His journals will be studied like the Talmud."

Eggsy pulls out his phone. "Like you asked, I took pictures of everything." He opens up the photo app and shows what he has to Harry. As Harry scrolls through the photos, Eggsy fidgets with the beer bottle, picking at the label with his thumbnail. Finally, it gets to be too much, and he asks, "Well?"

Harry looks up, pulls off his glasses and smiles. "You have no idea what you have, do you?"

"Um, no? You're the lepidopterist, you should be telling me."

Harry laughs. "Not only do you have specimen cases from one of the leading lights in the field, but you have his personal exemplars of all of the species he had discovered. And of course, a Palos Verde Blue, which is one of the rarest species in the world. Of course." Harry seems bemused by that last bit.

"So, good?"

"More than good, my dear. Excellent, or even better, extraordinary. I will need to see these in person, but I am confident that the Museum will buy everything, and of course, the journals, plus all of the other materials you managed to save, and pay you a very fair price."

Eggsy lets out a deep breath. "So, I won't be homeless. At least not for the near future."

The expression on Harry's face changes to something hard to read. But before he can ask if there's a problem, Harry gets up and takes his wallet from his suit jacket. "Let me settle the tab and head out."

"No, bruv. Let _me_ handle it, all right? You bought me the ticket for the Zoo, plus lunch. Least I can do is spring for a couple of beers." Before Harry can argue, Eggsy heads up to the counter and settles the bill.

They step out into the chilly evening air. The tulips might be up and the early flowering trees in bloom, but it's mid-February and technically still winter.

"I'd like to get a closer look at those specimen cases. Would you mind heading back to Kensington with me so I can pull up your photos on my computer?"

Eggsy's glad Harry hasn't suggested that they head to his flat, since it's mostly bare and he doesn't like the idea of a posh and gentlemanly bloke like Harry walking around his brutal neighborhood after dark.

Harry flags down a taxi and they don't really chat on the ride to Stanhope Mews. It seems that Harry has something on his mind and doesn't want to talk about it just yet.

The mews house at the end of the block is pretty much as Eggsy remembers it, and at Harry's request, he takes off his trainers and leaves them by the door. He's relieved that he's wearing the one pair of socks that don't have holes in the toes. Mr. Pickle comes running to greet them and Eggsy has to stop and play with the little dog for a few minutes before Harry mentions dinner. The beast goes scampering down the hall and Harry follows.

Eggsy follows, too, and finds himself in an open and airy kitchen filled with lots of marble and gleaming appliances that are either obsessively cleaned or rarely used.

After Harry feeds Pickle's, he says, "A cup of tea feels right about now, would you like one, too? We can look at the photos afterwards."

"Sure. Got a place I can wash up?"

Harry points him to the downstairs loo, and Eggsy is only slightly freaked by the stuffed dog on the shelf over the bog. There's a plaque on the base and Eggsy reads it as he does his business - _Mr. Pickle the First_. 

Eggsy washes up and returns to the kitchen and finds Harry's filling a teapot. He looks at Eggsy like he's waiting for him to say something.

And Eggsy knows exactly what Harry's waiting for. "Should I be creeped out by the dead dog in the bog?"

"Not necessarily." Harry waits a moment and adds laconically, "But you'd be one of the few who aren't."

"It's pretty fucking strange. But it's not like you don't have dead butterflies everywhere."

"Are you implying that I'm a serial killer? Because if you are, then we can't be friends, because that movie was pretty fucking awful. From a lepidopterist's point of view, that is."

"Not implying anything of the sort, bruv. Just that it seems to roll with the theme you got going on here. I kind of like it?" Eggsy's not lying. The stuffed dog is definitely weird but it seems very _Harry_. "So, is this guy – " He points to the terrier now curled up in his bed, "Mr. Pickle the Second?"

"No, actually, he's the fourth in the line. Pickle the Second ran out into traffic and didn't survive."

Eggsy's horrified. "He got hit by a car?"

"No, he made it home just fine, but when he realized what he'd done, I think he just passed away out from the utter shock at his bad manners. He'd been fourteen years old at the time, suffering from incurable pancreatitis, and hadn't so much as tried to leave the house on his own at any point in the previous thirteen. He'd always been something of a homebody. And perhaps a touch agoraphobic. Being out like that had just been too much for the old dog."

Eggsy doesn't appreciate being wound up like that, but he can appreciate Harry's sly sense of humor. "And Pickle the Third?"

"Living the very good life with my ex, Victoria, and her husband, Ivan. I'd asked them dog sit when I had to go to a conference, and Ivan had fallen completely and utterly in love with the brat. They spoil him terribly."

"So you just let them keep him?" Eggsy finds that strange.

"Well, to be fair, I'd only had Pickle the Third for a few weeks, and Ivan had found Pickle the Fourth for me, so," Harry shrugs, "we were all satisfied at the end of the day." He puts the pot on a tray with cups and saucers, and an assortment of tea things, and takes it into the living room. 

Eggsy waits patiently while Harry goes through the ritual of tea pouring, then fixing Eggsy's cup to Eggsy's specification, then fixing his own. It all feels a bit like a show, that Harry's building up to something.

The tension builds as they have their tea and Harry makes no move to suggest they transfer the pictures to his computer. Eggsy can't take it and asks, "What's the matter?"

"Nothing's wrong, but I'd like to ask you something."

Eggsy can't begin to imagine what that would be. "Sure, go ahead."

"Would you like to move in here with me?"

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::


	3. Chapter 3

Before meeting up with Eggsy, Harry hadn't exactly known what he would say to the young man, other than make it clear he considers Eggsy a friend – as odd as that seems. It's when Eggsy tells him that his mother and the sister he's sacrificed so much for have emigrated, that a plan solidifies. He'll invite Eggsy to move in – temporarily, of course – and from there, he'll do what he can to encourage Eggsy to further his education, to realize all the potential that Harry sees in him.

He's not without connections – he's on the Board of Governors of London University and he has colleagues in positions of influence at Oxford and Cambridge as well. Merlin holds a fellowship chair at LSE and would probably be delighted to pull strings. And there's always Victoria and Ivan, who are looking to do good in this world, and could easily be convinced to donate to a scholarship fund.

Of course, Victoria will use that to make Harry's life a little miserable, in the best possible way, teasing him about his need to fix the young man's life. Harry will put up with it; Eggsy's future is worth a little teasing.

"Move in with you?" Eggsy stares at Harry like he's gone crazy, and apparently Eggsy thinks he does. "You off your nob?"

"Why not?"

"Because you barely know me! Because I could be evil." Eggsy's tone is panicky and a bit strident.

"But you aren't. I look at you and see a young man with potential. A young man who wants to make something of his life."

"Potential for anti-social behavior, more like it. How do you know I won't rob you blind, steal your silver and Mr. Pickle and run off into the night?"

Harry thinks about the file Merlin had sent him that day six months ago. "To be honest, when I first met you, I worried about that."

"You should have, bruv. You're way too trusting. People gonna hurt you, take advantage of you."

Harry thinks it's terribly sad that someone as young as Eggsy is so cynical. "I had Merlin do a background check on you." He waits for Eggsy to explode with anger, but Eggsy just laughs.

"Smart move. And I guess that you had Merlin here that day to back you up in case I decided that I wanted more than your money."

"Well, Mr. Pickle is very precious to me." Pickle's the only thing he'd truly hate to lose, other than his life.

"He's a cute pooch." Eggsy tips his head and stares at Harry, much like Pickle does when Harry talks to him.

"So, I know that you have one arrest, for joyriding, but you got off with a warning." 

Eggsy grimaces. "Took one of my stepda's 'associates' car – my mum was sick and I needed to get her to the doctor. Rottie had been stupid enough to leaves the keys in it and I returned it just as I found it, right where he'd parked it. Wished I'd rammed it into the rozzers' car that was waiting for me there. Or rolled over Rottie. Worst of Dean's muppets."

There's so much cold anger in Eggsy's voice that Harry has to wonder about this Rottie character and what he'd done to Eggsy.

But Eggsy doesn't offer any further explanation. He looks at him, still puzzled. "I still don't understand why you'd invite a stranger to move in with you? I mean, yeah – we're friends of sorts – "

"Not just of sorts, Eggsy. We are friends. For me, friendship is like being pregnant or dead. There's no middle ground for me. And as I said, you're not really a total stranger." Harry doesn't want to oversell it. 

Eggsy sighs a little, and admits, "Okay, so not a stranger and we're friends. But still – you gotta admit that this is kind of strange. Do you take in boarders a lot?"

"Not boarders, per se, but I've had friends who have stayed with me on and off over the years. Merlin had lived with me for a few weeks, back in the early Aughts, when he'd returned to London after years living abroad and needed to sort out a place to stay – of course by the end, we'd been at each other's throats. On occasion, James has stayed here, too. Every once and a while, he and Alastair have a blow-up, in a very civilized fashion, mind you. But things are said and feelings get hurt and James decides he can't stay another minute with the love of his life. That doesn't happen too often, but when it does, it's fairly epic. Takes a few days for them to come to their senses, and they always do, but still."

"Who are James and Alastair? You've mentioned 'em a few times, like I'm supposed to know them."

It's a testament to just how comfortable Harry feels with Eggsy that he has to remember that this is only the third conversation he's had with him. "My apologies, James and Alastair are, after Merlin, my closest friends. I've known them since university and we'd shared a house for our last few terms. They own an antiquarian bookshop. Alastair had been the one who'd advised me on the price for your set of _Macrolepidoptera_. You'll like them I think."

"That seems like a cool job, working in an old bookstore."

"Would that be something you'd really like to do? I know that they've been looking for a part time clerk now that their daughter has started at the University of London."

"You kidding me? A chance to get paid to spend the whole day with books? Old books?" Eggsy pinches himself. "I got to be dreaming because first you offer me a place to stay and now a job?"

"Well, you will have to meet with Alastair – he does the hiring – and you'll have to pass muster. But I certainly will be happy to give you an excellent recommendation."

"Are you for real?"

Harry carefully lays a hand over Eggsy's. "I think so."

"I gotta ask, what do you want from me? Really, because no one puts themselves out like this without wanting something for themselves." 

Harry isn't hurt by Eggsy's suspicions at all. They aren't unwarranted and he'd have to ask the same question if he'd been in Eggsy's shoes. He even has an answer prepared, "I want you to study for the entrance exams for Oxford, Cambridge and at least two other schools. I want you to quit your dead end jobs and dedicate yourself to your studies. I want you to realize the tremendous potential you have."

Eggsy shakes his head. "Like I said, you ain't for real. You gotta want something from me more than that." 

Harry sighs. He can see where Eggsy's going with this and he decides to be blunt. "I don't want sex, Eggsy."

Eggsy stares at him. "Why not? You ace?"

Harry's not unfamiliar with the term. "No, I'm not asexual. I am a gentleman." _But not so much a gentleman that I can't entertain the fantasy of having you naked in my bed and well-lubed up._

 

Thankfully, Eggsy can't read Harry's thoughts. "You really are serious, aren't you? You'd do all of this just because you think I've got 'potential'?"

"Yes, Eggsy. And I don't just think you have potential, I know it. Merlin's report didn't just include your not-so-criminal history. He provided your school records, too. Huge IQ, very superior scores on your GSCEs. There had been notes from your school counsellors that you'd be a good fit with Oxford or Cambridge, but you didn't want to take the entrance exams."

"Thought they were full of shite – a chav like me at places like that?" Eggsy shakes his head. "Not like I had the dosh for school Not to mention that Dean were a problem then. He'd do everything to sabotage me. It got so bad I signed up for the Marines just to escape his shit. Wanted me to run his drugs and other crap."

Harry remembers that Eggsy had done well, according to his CO, "But you dropped out of training."

"Yeah – Dean was being right awful to my mum, even worse when she got up the duff. She'd thought Dean'd try to kill her or make her lose the baby. Had no choice but to come home. And glad I did, because he did try – went after her with a knife when he thought I wasn't home. Stopped him and called the cops. Even testified at his trial and I don't grass on anyone."

"You did the right thing." Harry doesn't know what else to say. 

"Thanks. Dean's crew made some noise about coming after me, but they didn't have the stones for it."

Harry thinks there's more to the story than that but he doesn't pry.

Eggsy is unfortunately adamant about doing the right thing. "So, if I do move in, I'll be paying rent. No arguments, bruv. "

Harry doesn't want Eggsy's money. He doesn't need it. "I own the house, I don't have to worry about a mortgage." Harry sees Eggsy start to work up a head of steam. "But I'll look into what's fair for a single room without a private bath, and we'll go from there."

"All right, but I don't want charity." Eggsy's so foolishly mulish about that. "I can work and pay what's fair."

Harry is concerned about Eggsy's insistence on working. "What about studying? You can't do that properly if you're juggling three jobs." He's is going to be implacable about that. "Those entrance exams aren't easy and you've been out of school for a while."

"I know – that's kinda what really scares me. I used to spend lots of time in the library, or hiding in an empty classroom. Couldn't study at home, not with my stepda. Thought I was getting ideas above myself, didn't like that I got good grades." Eggsy makes a face. "But he's dead and I might just have a chance at something better than the crap life he'd thought I was good for."

"All that starts right now – you just have to reach out and grab it." Harry can see that Eggsy wants what he's offering.

But Eggsy still isn't willing to commit. "I need to think about it. It's a big change. Never lived anywhere by the Estates. Until my mum moved, I never thought I'd live anywhere but there. I just don't know if I should be moving in with you. No offense."

"None take, my dear boy. This is a big step and I want you to make sure it's right for you. And it's not like I've got other potential tenants lined up."

"Yeah, that's true."

It's clear that high pressure sales tactics aren't going to work, but he should at least give Eggsy a chance to see where he could be living. "Do you want to see the room? You should probably have all the information before making a decision"

"Yeah, all right."

Harry takes Eggsy upstairs. "It had been a four bedroom house when I bought it, but now it's down to two. One is the master suite, of course. One bedroom would be your room, and I've had the remaining two converted into a library. When I remodeled the kitchen a few years back, I'd taken what had been a small library and added it to the kitchen. James and Alastair had been horrified that I'd been more interested in a pleasant space to cook than having a cramped room for my books."

Eggsy laughs. "Everyone has their priorities."

"Well, I rarely cook, but when I do, it's nice to be able to enjoy the process. Besides, I gave the pair free rein to design the library, which cost almost as much as the kitchen remodel - what with the antique walnut panelling and shelving and the humidity and temperature controls." Harry unlocks the door to the library and shows off the room. Eggsy walks in and looks enthralled.

"You have a lot of books, bruv."

"Yes, I do. And do you want to see what I've done with _Macrolepidoptera?_ I think you'll approve." He brings Eggsy over to a case and an antique lectern, perfectly sized for a single volume of the set, which has been rebound in period correct leather with gold stamping.

Eggsy lets out a low whistle. "Very nice."

"Would you enjoy studying in here?"

"You serious? You'd let me?"

"Why not? There's plenty of room, and my own office is downstairs. I somehow don't think you'd want to work where I have my butterfly materials - the killing jars and mounting tools."

"Yeah, probably not."

Harry then shows Eggsy the guest room - which will become his room. "It has an attached bath, so you'll have your privacy."

"You're making it real hard not to say yes right now."

"Then why don't you?" 

"Because I really need to think about it. Do the whole pro-and-con thing. Make sure it's right for me. But I won't take long. Just have a few more weeks on the lease – rent's paid for the month, and then I got to be out of there. Landlord's already had people walking through the place."

"That has to be unpleasant."

"It's not fun, but it's not like I'm home a lot or got a lot of things to worry about. Other than the butterfly stuff." Eggsy looks startled. "Shit - I completely forgot, you wanted to get a better look at it." He pulls out his phone and offers it to Harry, who doesn't take it. 

"I do want to, but that can wait. I have to be honest; that had really been an excuse to have this discussion in private." 

Eggsy shakes his head and laughs. "Anyone ever tell you that you're a sneaky bastard?"

"All the time, my dear boy."

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::


	4. Chapter 4

It's been over a week and Eggsy still hasn't been able to make a decision about moving in with Harry. He's put down the pros and cons, and then the details and more details, but he can't make up his mind. And it's getting harder to see the cons, with all of the time he's been spending with Harry.

The sticking point isn't Harry, it's moving to Kensington, to a world that he knows nothing about, filled with people with whom he has nothing in common. When he thinks about what he life could be like living on a private, quiet street, he can't stop worrying that the neighbors will call the cops when they see him, that they'll complain to Harry that his tenant's bringing the neighborhood down, that he's an embarrassment. Harry of course, will defend Eggsy, will do his best to shield him from the neighbor's opinions. Eggsy knows that Harry couldn't give a damn about the neighbors, but it's still going to make his life unpleasant. 

And that's the last thing Eggsy wants. And it battles hard with his feelings for Harry, a guy he barely knows but somehow has become essential to his own well-being.

When he thinks about Harry, he gets this lovely warm and fuzzy feeling - sort of like the first time he'd held his baby sister. When Eggsy picks it apart, he realizes that it's a kind of kinship, the feeling that Harry Hart - despite his poshness, his education, his status in a world that Eggsy barely understands - is a lot like him. Smart and lonely and eager to do right in a world that'll likely shit all over him. In the week since Harry had asked Eggsy to move in, Eggsy's been at Harry's every spare moment he's had, getting to know they type of man Harry Hart really is, and he's rapidly discovering that Harry is a fucking gentle soul with his silly dog and his butterflies and his generosity and his occasionally foul mouth. He could so easily fall in love with Harry – he's already addicted to spending time with the man.

A part of Eggsy wants to move in just to make sure that no one else takes advantage of Harry, which is too ridiculous for words. Harry had been smart enough to ask his bad-ass friend, Merlin, to run a background check on him before even letting him in his house.

Another part of Eggsy, the demon of negativity that makes him doubt that he's worth anything, whispers that Harry's only doing this for what he can get out of Eggsy. Maybe he'd lied about being a gentleman and won't pressure him for sex. Or maybe he's looking for something else. Something dark and evil. Which is a million kinds of fucked up stupidity, because there's nothing that Eggsy brings to the table that Harry couldn't get elsewhere. 

Eggsy's already turned over Mr. Krasner's butterflies and stuff. The fucking Museum of Natural History sent a van with curators to take possession of the collection and Harry had been there - in his official capacity - to deliver a check for more money than Eggsy could have ever imagined. It's money that Eggsy could use as the first and last month's rent on his own place, with a bit left over, to find a place in a part of London that's more middle-class than Kensington, some place like Maida Vale or Shepherd's Bush. Those neighborhoods are pricy, but not out of Eggsy's reach if he manages well and finds better jobs, or actually goes to uni and applies for housing stipends. And best of all, they aren't filled with posh gits who'd been born with a silver spoon up their arses.

But who's to say that the working stiffs - the blokes and birds who work in the City would welcome a refugee from council housing? They'd probably be just as bad - or maybe worse - than Harry's neighbors. Call the rozzers on him the moment he steps out of line. Maybe he should just stay here, eternally couch surf until he's old and useless and just finds a box and lives the rest of his life in an alleyway.

Eggsy knows he's being stupid, running himself down and fucking himself up. He wants out of this dead end life. He wants to show the world what he's made of, and it's not going to happen unless he actually does something. He's got some means, he has a few choices. He just has to reach out and grab the world by the balls.

He also has friends who can help him decide. A few nights ago, he'd met up with Ryan and Jamal after he'd gotten off shift at Tesco, but before he'd needed to start work at the mall. Both his mates had been okay with meeting him there before he'd had to clock in, and he'd told them what was going on. They'd been seriously impressed by the opportunity to move to Kensington and told him he'd be fucking nuts to turn it down. 

Eggsy had still pressed both of them about finding a place locally, near the Estate, but not in it, where they could do well and split the rent and the other costs. But neither Ryan nor Jamal want to give up their cozy situations - they both still mooch off their parents and see no reason to venture out into the world of adult responsibilities. At least Jamal has a job and a car, although all he does is deliver Papa John's three nights a week. Ryan keeps mentioning that he wants to work as an EMT, and he'd even gone as far as getting the exam application done, but he's never submitted it; Eggsy's gotten tired of giving him encouragement. Ryan's old enough to deal with his own life choices. Besides, Ryan had actually told him to shut up and stop nagging him, that Eggsy's worse than his own mum.

Against his better judgment, Eggsy's meeting his mates at The Black Prince this afternoon. He's got a few hours before going to Kensington to have dinner with Harry and _his_ mates, the infamous duo, Alastair and James. Merlin will be there, too. Eggsy had been able to swap shifts at Maccy D's tonight, so he has the luxury of an afternoon and an evening off, although it's going to cost him - he'll have to do seven overnights straight at the Big Clown, after doing shifts at the mall and at Tesco during the day.

Since Dean had tried to kill his mum, Eggsy's mostly avoided The Black Prince. Rottie and Poodle and the rest of Dean's crew still hang out there, and while he's pretty sure that they actually wouldn't jump him, Eggsy would rather not risk it. But Jamal's told him that Rottie's got a new gov'nor, who works out of The King's Goat, a few klicks closer to the river, and rarely comes to the Prince anymore. So Eggsy's kind of all right going to his old local and raising a pint with his mates before catching the Tube to Kensington and another world altogether. Maybe this will give him the clarity he needs.

Eggsy is halfway through his first pint when he realizes that this isn't where he belongs anymore. Ryan and Jamal are good blokes, the kind of guys he'd trust to have his back when he'd go on the pull and maybe even in a bar fight, but they aren't the mates he needs if he wants to be better than his former self.

"Can't believe that you're really move to fucking Kensington." Jamal looks at him over his glass. "How you gonna deal with all the posh gits?"

"He's moving in with a posh git," Ryan adds. "A real sweet sugar daddy."

Eggsy's getting fed up with this. "Shut your gob – Harry's not my sugar daddy. He's a _friend_. That's it. And I still haven't made up my mind about moving in with him. But if I do, I'll be paying rent, not sponging off him." 

Jamal doesn't let it go and it's like he isn't even listening to Eggsy, "Still, even if you have to put out, not like he's a bad looking bloke. Right fit, your Harry is."

Ryan, of course, agrees and the pair of fist bump like they're utter fucking geniuses. Eggsy wishes that he'd never shown them Harry's picture in the Wikipedia entry – at least they didn't bother to read it and see that Harry's actually the fourth Baron Hart. They'll never let him alone if they find out that he could be shacking up with a peer of the realm. Well, shacking up in the most platonic of ways.

"Harry's a good bloke, so I'd appreciate it if you could be respectful."

Jamal sniggers, "Yeah, sure thing, coz. We'll be real respectful. Speaking of - when are we gonna get to meet the love of your life?"

Eggsy rolls his eyes and tells himself that loves his mates, he really does, but times like this he doesn't know what to do with them. While he doesn't - in principle - have any objections to introducing Harry to these morons, he doesn't want to do it just yet. "You guys will have to come down to Kensington – I ain't bringing Harry up here."

Both his mates nod, and Ryan adds, "Yeah, probably not a good idea. A butterfly guy like your Harry will get jumped in a heartbeat." 

Ryan asks, "So, how does it feel being friends with a member of the one-percent?"

Eggsy's kind of surprised that his friend knows that expression; Ryan had never been one to read the newspapers. But it is a fair question. "A little weird? But Harry's an alright kind of guy. Talks posh, dresses really posh - like a prince or something - but he's really ordinary, if you can believe it. Loves his dog, loves his work."

"Well, the papers say that about Victoria Beckham - loves her husband and kids, but I don't think she's ordinary at all."

Eggsy doesn't comment and he's grateful that they change the subject to football and their team's chances of getting anywhere near the Premiership this year. Ryan springs for another round of beers and once they've finished, Eggsy tells his friends he needs to get going. He doesn't lie - because lies can bite him in the ass - but he doesn't tell them that he's having dinner with Harry and Harry's friends. He's almost out the door, but it's dumb and stupid bad luck that Rottie walks into The Black Prince at that exact moment.

"Oi – can't believe you have the nerve to show your face in here, _Muggsy_." Rottie looms over him, angry and threatening.

"Just leaving, you prick. Got better places to be than this." Eggsy looks over at the barkeep. "Sorry – nothing personal." The barkeep nods back, unoffended.

"You ain't going nowhere. We got a score to settle." Rottie blocks Eggsy's path. 

While this isn't the first time he's seen Rottie since Dean went away, it's the first time he's been this close to the bastard. "Me? What did I do?" Eggsy puts on his most innocent face.

"You grassed on Dean and got him sent to prison. Wouldn't have gotten himself killed if you hadn't opened your fucking gob to the rozzers."

"Seriously? You think I should have let that rat bastard kill my mother? The woman who'd been six months pregnant with his child?"

"Dean told me it weren't his – he said that Michelle had been sleeping around." As if that's an excuse to let Dean murder his mum. 

Eggsy's surprised he's not enraged at Rottie's slander against his mum, and kind of hopes it's true, that Daisy's not Dean's. "Well, good for her. But that don't change jack about what I did and I'd do it again a million time. I called the rozzers because I wasn't going to let him kill her. And if Dean was pissed about the babe, he could have just left and made us all happy."

"She should have left, and taken your worthless ass with her. It ain't good for much anyway – though I'd heard that you getting a real sweet deal with some old bloke in Kensington peddling your ass. Does he know what you used to do?" Rottie's tone is sly. 

Eggsy doesn't think to tell Rottie that the flat has been Michelle's, not Dean's. That Michelle had paid the rent out of the scratch she'd earned working endless shifts, that Dean never contributed a penny to the household, never worked a real job, and still expected his wife to do all of the chores. He also doesn't ask how Rottie - who supposedly doesn't even hang out at The Black Prince came by this knowledge. 

After ten years, he's going to make this bastard shut his mouth for good. "Not so worthless, considering you paid Dean for it. And then you couldn't even get it up." Eggsy still has nightmares about that – he'd been fourteen and small and skinny, no match for a determined adult Rottweiler, who'd hurt him enough that he'd had to take himself to the hospital the next day and lied about his age and what had happened. Dean would have killed him if he'd grassed..

The pub goes silent and all Eggsy can hear is his own heart beating. And then the clack-snick of a butterfly knife.

"Why you little shit – " Rottie's ugly face gets uglier as steps in close and shoves the knife into Eggsy and it becomes very hard to breath as blood fills his lung.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Harry checks his watch and it's seven forty-five. Eggsy's nearly two hours late and Harry doesn't know if he should be annoyed or worried. He'd told Eggsy that they'd be sitting down to dinner at seven, but his guests would be arriving around six, for drinks and such. It would be a nice chance for Eggsy to get to know the people in Harry's life and a chance for them to get to know him.

Eggsy hadn't been enthusiastic about the idea, but he'd said he'd be here. But he's not and his absence is a sore point.

"Why don't you call him?" James' suggestion is reasonable. "You do have his number."

"I've texted him, twice. He hasn't answered." 

"Could be that he didn't hear the alert - happens to me all the time. Call him."

Harry wants to, but he's worried that it would send the wrong message. That he's being overbearing and controlling.

Merlin must see some of that on Harry's face, because he chimes in. "The lad isn't irresponsible - not by a long stretch. If he says he'll be someplace, he's there. Something might be wrong."

"Could he have gotten called into work?" Alastair's question is reasonable.

"It's possible, but he still would have called to let me know." Harry hasn't pressed Eggsy to quit any of his jobs, even though each individually seem like a kind of hell, and all three of them together would make a saint commit murder. He hates to admit it but he's worried and takes out his phone to call Eggsy. As it rings, he tries to think of a way to ask Eggsy why he didn't show without sounding like an overbearing asshole.

The phone stops ringing, but Eggsy doesn't say anything.

"Hello?"

_"Hey - is this Harry?"_

Harry doesn't recognize the voice - it's male, but it's definitely not Eggsy. A shot of concern runs through Harry and he retreats into too much formality. "It is, with whom do I have the pleasure of speaking with?" 

_"Oh, thank god. This is Eggsy's mate, Ryan. Wait - hold on - "_

There's some noise in the background - people shouting, sirens wailing and Harry's concern is immediately dialed up to worry. 

The background noise dissipates and Ryan finally says something, _"Sorry, mate - needed to find someplace a bit quieter."_

"What's going on? Why are you answering Eggsy's phone?" 

_"There's been a thing - an incident I guess. Eggsy got hurt. Bad. He's in the A &E - they're operating on him."_

Harry freeze and looks over at his friends. "Operating? What happened."

_"He got stabbed."_

The horror must show on Harry's face because his friends immediately look concerned. "What hospital?"

_"We're at St. Thomas, it's the closest to the pub we were at."_

"I'll be there as soon as I can. Can you call me if you hear anything?"

_"Yeah, sure. Need your number though - Eggsy's phone is locked, can't make any outgoing calls on it."_

Harry rattles off his number and disconnects. Before he can tell everyone he has to go, Merlin asks, "What's going on?"

"Eggsy's been stabbed and he's at St. Thomas - that's all I know. And I have to go." He looks at the mess of serving dishes and dirty plates on the dining table. "I'll have to clean this up later."

James steps in, "You go, we'll clean up."

"Ye're in no state to drive, Harry. Ye've had half a bottle and ye're shaking. I'll drive." 

"You had more to drink than I've had."

"Don't argue, Harry." Merlin chivvies Harry to the foyer, grabs their coats and all but pushes Harry into his car. Harry doesn't remember any of the trip; it seems as if Merlin simply pulls onto Gloucester Road and then right into the front of the hospital. Harry runs into the A&E and finds himself in the middle of chaos. It's a busy urban hospital and there are patients waiting, babies screaming, adults moaning, and Harry doesn't know what to do.

Thankfully, a security guard approaches and asks if Harry needs help. "A friend of mine was admitted with a stab wound - I was told he's being operated on." Harry curses himself, by declaring that Eggsy's a _friend_ , he's probably lock himself out of getting any information. He should have said Eggsy is his son or nephew or something.

The guard tells Harry he can ask for a patient update at the Information Desk, and points him in the right direction. 

The old man in a red waistcoat who mans the desk checks Eggsy's status and tells him that he's still in the operating theatre. Harry sighs in frustration and worry and resigns himself to a long, nerve-wracking wait. He's about to take a seat with a pair of young men approach. "You Harry Hart?"

These must be Eggsy's friends. "Yes, I am."

They introduce themselves as Ryan and Jamal and without waiting for Harry to ask, Ryan tells him what had happened.

"It's my fault. Rottie had been banging about how he's missing the good days, when Dean - that's Eggsy's stepdad - had been running things. How he's now the lowest dog in his new pack, but the only thing that makes him happy is knowing that Eggsy's doing worse than he is. Working three crap jobs, got left behind by his mum, that he'll end up peddling his ass just to have a roof over his head. So I kind of spilled the beans that Eggsy's moving in with a nice posh guy in Kensington, that he's got a real future that doesn't include pushing drugs or selling his ass. Rottie got real ticked off and I think that someone must have told 'im that we were at The Black Prince and Rottie just showed up. He said something and Eggsy said something and next thing, he's put a knife into Eggsy and makes a runner. Jamal had called 9-9-9 and that's what happened."

Ryan looks like he's been crying and Harry doesn't have the heart to make the boy any more miserable that he already is. "Thank you. How long has it been?"

Jamal checks the clock on the wall before sayings, "Happened about four hours ago. Eggsy was just leaving when Rottie came in."

They find a place to sit; a few minutes later Merlin joins them and after making the introductions, Harry tells his friend what had happened. Merlin does what he does best, and gathers information in the most subtle of ways. The two boys - men, really, since they are the same age as Eggsy - are eager to offer up what they know. In a few minutes, Merlin has Rottie's complete file and shows it to Harry. There's a all-points bulletin and a warrant for Rottie's arrest, but Harry's not putting his faith in the police. Merlin has friends and isn't hesitant about calling in a couple of favors.

Harry tries not to watch the clock and worry; he tells himself that as long as Eggsy's in surgery, he's still alive. A little after the fifth hour in the waiting room, someone comes out, calling for "Family of Gary Unwin". The four of them follow the woman into a small, curtained area. She looks at them and it's fairly clear that they aren't family in the traditional way, but unless she demands an explanation, Harry's not offering up anything. Harry's grateful that Ryan and Jamal look at him to take charge.

"How is he?"

"Alive and he should stay that way. The biggest worry is going to be infection, and we'll have to monitor that closely. He'll be on a ventilator and kept under heavy sedation for the next twenty-four hours." She talks more about the lung puncture and blood loss, but she does seem confident that Eggsy will be fine. "He's young and healthy, and in time, he'll make a complete recovery."

Harry lets out a deep breath. "Thank you, doctor. I don't suppose we can see him?"

"Not for another few hours while he's in recovery. After he's turned over to Critical Care, only one person will be allowed in each hour, for just five minutes."

"Understandable."

"My suggestion is to go home and get some rest. The earliest you'll be allowed to see him is ten AM tomorrow."

At that, the doctor departs and Harry feels like a balloon that just been pricked. All of his energy is just _gone_. But he can't ignore Eggsy's friends. "Will you be all right?"

"Yeah - we'll be back tomorrow - but you probably should be the first one to visit."

"Why me?"

Ryan laughs a little sadly. "He's so gone over on you. Hadn't said as much, but lately, you're kind of all he talks about. He's not sure that moving into your place will be the best thing for you. One of the reasons why I told Rottie that you'd already agreed was so maybe that'd give Eggsy the push to actually commit. Didn't think it'd get him almost killed."

Harry's not sure he follows that logic but it doesn't really matter.

"Besides, you're just as gone over on Eggsy. The way you rushed over, the way you looked when the doc said that Eggsy'd be okay. That ain't how an ordinary landlord acts."

All Harry can say is, "Eggsy's my friend."

"Yeah." It's clear that Ryan isn't convinced that's the extent of Harry's relationship with Eggsy, but Harry's not going to argue. _Methinks that thou protest too much._

Merlin asks, "Can we give you lads a lift home?"

Jamal declines. "Nah, we'll take the Tube, it'll be easier. But thanks."

They walk to the front of the hospital and the young men take off. Merlin steers Harry towards the car park and into his vintage Jag. "Will have you home in a bit."

Merlin doesn't lie as he makes his way back across the river and into Kensington without hitting any major traffic snarls. The house has been tidied up, James and Alastair had done every last dish and but all of the leftovers away. There's a note letting Harry know that Mr. Pickle even had his evening walkies and a small treat. Harry makes a mental note to send them a bottle of wine in thanks.

"Come on, let's get ye to bed."

"I'm not a child, Merlin."

"No, but ye've had a fright and I'd rather see ye get a chance at a night's sleep than sitting alone and destroying yer liver."

Harry can barely make the effort to protest. "You know me too well."

"Since we were twelve." Merlin leads him upstairs and fetches his robe and nightclothes. "Get changed, I'll go make some tea."

"The kind your granny used to make?" Harry had spent more than a few Christmas holidays with Merlin's family up in Stirling. Granny MacAllen's "tea" had been an infamous treat on Christmas Eve.

"Yes, but I think a little less whisky and a lot more honey for tonight."

Harry doesn't argue with Merlin about the whisky. Or about anything. He just doesn't have the energy. 

By the time Merlin returns with a thermal flask and a spill-proof mug, Harry's curled up under the covers. He sits up and takes the tea from Merlin. The honey and whisky don't do much to disguise the almost perfume-like aroma of the chamomile tea. He finishes the mug and puts it on the nightstand. 

"Do you want some company? I can stay or I can fetch Mr. Pickle."

"Maybe both?" Harry's feeling more than a bit needy. 

Merlin fetches the little dog and puts him on the bed with Harry. Pickle promptly curls up on the extra pillow next to Harry's head, and Merlin turns out the light before taking a seat in the arm chair next to the window.

Harry says, "I'm not gone over on Eggsy. Not the way his friends think."

Merlin doesn't say anything, since they both know that that's a bald-faced lie.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::


	5. Chapter 5

For the last three days, Harry has spent much of the day at the hospital, waiting for Eggsy to wake up. Eggsy had lost so much blood, and although he'd only been stabbed once, the wound had been deep and caused a disproportionate amount of damage. For three days, Harry sits at Eggsy's bedside, watching the monitors beep a steady rhythm while Eggsy sleeps. He needs to be intubated and the doctors have kept Eggsy under sedation as a precaution. Harry has to wonder if Eggsy dreams in his drugged state, or if his mind is just lost in a formless haze. Maybe when Eggsy wakes up, he can ask him.

It's a little after eleven and Harry hurries down the hall to Eggsy's room - he's a little late, even though visiting hours haven't officially started. Last night, Merlin had all but dragged Harry out of the hospital and put him to bed, insisting that if he didn't get some proper rest, he'd end up in a hospital room of his own, probably as far away from Eggsy as possible. Truthfully, Harry had welcomed the quiet softness of his bed, with only Mr. Pickle's light snores breaking the quiet.

He'd ended up sleeping later than he'd planned and spent far too much time playing catchup. Thankfully, he has a competent staff at the museum to cover for him and other than a quick check with his assistant, Charles, to go over the few things that can't be delegated; he now has the rest of the week free.

When he gets to Eggsy's room (a private one, thanks to Harry's willingness to pay for the extra costs), he's surprise by the change in Eggsy's condition. Sometime this morning, Eggsy had been extubated - the breathing tube replaced by a nasal cannula and it's something of a shock to see Eggsy without the bulky tube distorting his face. 

This is an improvement of great magnitude; it means that Eggsy should be coming out of sedation soon, and then out of the hospital. Over the past three days, Harry's been making vague plans for what has to happen next. Not only will Eggsy need recuperative care, physical therapy and everything else that recovery will entail, but he's going to need a place to live. Under no circumstances will Harry allow Eggsy to return to his god-forsaken neighborhood and he's going to insist that Eggsy move in with him. Harry despises the circumstances that have force this turn of events, but he's not going to allow Eggsy to risk his recovery - his life - for the sake of pride.

Harry wants so much for Eggsy. He sees a young man practically glowing with potential, someone who's loyal to a fault. Eggsy deserves only the best and Harry wants to do everything in his power to make that happen. Eggsy doesn't need a helping hand, or someone to wave a wand and remove all barriers, but he does need someone who can make things a little easier.

Harry thinks, maybe that godforsaken title is good for something after all. It's a pity the new marriage laws don't confer an "honorable" on a same-sex spouse.

And then Harry freezes. When did he start thinking about marrying Eggsy?

But now that the thought is in his brain, he can't let go of it. It makes perfect sense, in an archaic, very Jane Austen kind of way. Like Darcy's proverbial ten thousand a year, there is much that can be bought with his own personal income and the power of a name and a title - social status and all of the protections that spring from that.

Harry sighs and mentally shakes his head at the idea. Eggsy's as likely to accept an offer of honorable marriage is he'd been of temporary lodgings - even less so. He can hear Merlin laughing at the foolishness of the idea, and Victoria not so gently joining in. After all, he'd married _her_ as a way to protect himself from the slings and arrows of an unkind world. This would be a subtle and delicious reversal of fortune. 

Harry puts aside the fantasy of marital bliss and watches Eggsy sleep. Without the tubes distorting his face, he's struck by Eggsy's stillness, the almost ethereal beauty of the young man. When they'd first met, Harry had felt an undeniable attraction to Eggsy, but it had been more than lust for someone young and handsome - that he can get at any club in London if all he wants is a pretty face and a lithe body. Eggsy is filled with a fierce vitality, a hunger for life, for knowledge, for being a better person than the world expects of him.

Harry looks at Eggsy and sees someone drastically altered by circumstance. Maybe it's the physical trauma, the surgery and the days of sedation, but Eggsy seems honed down to some pure essentiality, everything extraneous has been burned away. Or maybe Harry needs a good stiff drink; he's avoided alcohol since Merlin had taken him home and put him to bed that first night. 

Resigned to another endless day of watching and waiting, Harry is startled when Eggsy stirs, smacks his lips and opens his eyes. Not all the way, just enough for Harry to see the smoky hazel-green before his lids close again. It seems as if Eggsy's gone back to sleep, but then he mutters something, it sounds like "thirsty". The nurses had warned Harry not to give Eggsy anything to drink if he wakes, but he can swab his lips and tongue with a sponge stick, which is what Harry does.

When Eggsy blinks and opens his eyes again, Harry presses the call button and a nurse arrives with gratifying swiftness.

"He's waking up I think."

Harry's shooed out of the room when the nurse calls for the attending and he finds a small waiting room at the end of the hallway. For lack of anything better to do, Harry checks his email, he calls Merlin and gets an update on the search for the bastard who'd stabbed Eggsy. He leaves texts for Eggsy's friends with news about the improvement in Eggsy's condition. And he waits and waits and waits.

It's hard not to go to the nurses' station and ask for updates; Harry had been told that someone would find him when they'd finished the examination. He doesn't want to make a pest of himself, but the waiting in ignorance is nerve-wracking.  
It seems like hours have past, but in truth, it only takes about forty-five minutes before one of the nurses finds Harry and lets him know that he can return to Eggsy's room.

If he'd thought the change between Eggsy with a breathing tube and Eggsy breathing on his own was startling, it's nothing compared to Eggsy in a mostly upright position, his face clean shaven, his hair combed, and best of all, his eyes bright and alert.

"Well, hello there."

"Hey, Harry." Eggsy still sounds tired, but there's real life in his voice. "Fancy seeing you here."

"Well, one of my dearest friends had taken ill - an acute case of stabbing - and I thought I'd stop by and check up on him."

Eggsy huffs out a tiny laugh and hugs a pillow left for that specific purpose. "Don't say nothing funny for a while, please. It hurts when I gotta laugh."

Harry retakes his seat. "I will endeavor to be sober and serious as a clergyman." Harry grins as he says that, and Eggsy smiles back.

But he does not laugh.

"I'm sorry to be such a pain, Haz."

Harry doesn't wince at the nickname that Eggsy's taken to using. He's just glad that Eggsy's alive and _able_ to use it. "You're not a pain, my dear."

"I'm guessing that Ryan and Jamal told you what happened."

"With the unfortunately named Mr. Rottweiler, yes."

"His name ain't really Rottweiler; Dean used to call him that and it kind of stuck. I think he's really called Clarence."

"Well, perhaps Rottweiler is an improvement."

"Yeah, pity that it's an insult to the breed."

"Yes. And someone needs to teach Clarence some manners."

"Manners maketh man and all that?"

"Exactly." Harry had used that aphorism with Eggsy once, and Eggsy had found it fascinating.

"Think probably the only place the bastard will learn some manners is as a guest of Her Majesty."

Harry murmurs his agreement, but he hopes that Merlin's friends will make all such lessons moot.

The conversation lapses and they fall into a comfortable silence. But eventually, Eggsy breaks it. "I was real sorry to have missed your dinner party. Was looking forward to meeting your friends and everything."

Harry nods. "They were sorry to have missed meeting you, but they do understand the circumstances."

"Yeah, circumstances. That's the word for it."

"You'll have other chances. James and Alastair have been asking about you every day, I hope you don't mind that I've let them know how you've been doing."

"Nah, it's cool."

"Everyone's been so concerned."

"Everyone?"

"Well, everyone in my small circle of friends. James and Alastair. Merlin. Victoria and Ivan."

"Your ex and her husband? You've told 'em about me?"

"Yes, well – " Harry's at a loss for an explanation. "I'd asked Victoria if she could send over her dog walker in the evenings, so I wouldn't have to worry about Mr. Pickle. She wanted to know why and well, I told her." Harry shrugs. He'd lied to Victoria once and it didn't work out too well. 

"It's okay - just kind of odd that strangers are worried about me." 

"When you finally meet them, they won't be strangers anymore."

"That's true, I guess." Eggsy bites his lip and looks worried.

"What's the matter?"

"I don't figure you want me to move in with you now - not with all the trouble I've brought to you."

Harry's flabbergasted. "Whatever do you mean?"

"Well, getting stabbed, missing your dinner party - "

"Neither of which is your fault." Before Eggsy can continue with this foolishness, Harry decides to put his foot down. "I've been thinking of a polite way to tell you that I am not going to take no for an answer about you moving in. But fuck politeness. You're moving in with me - you've got a long road to recovery and you won't be able to manage if you're sacking out on someone's couch."

Eggsy closes his eyes and let a sigh. "Thank you, Harry. I was gonna tell you that night that I'd made up my mind, that I want to move in. Last thought I had before I'd gone down was that I was real pissed that Rottie had ruined it for me. Now, I'm kind of afraid to go back there - Rottie might be on the run, but there were other dogs in Dean's pack who might want to finish the job."

Harry will pass on that news to Merlin, but all he says is, "I'm happy that you had made that decision, and that I didn't have insist that I know best. You're an adult and you have every right to make up your own mind about your life, but I've been worried that you're so anxious about taking anything that you believe you haven't earned, that you'd risk your recovery."

"Probably won't be able to pay rent right away. Not unless I hit my savings – the money you paid for the butterfly stuff. Probably should, since I was gonna use that to pay for a place of my own." Eggsy trails off, looking distressed.

Harry shakes his head, "Please don't worry about that. We'll figure something out."

"I just – just don't wanna sponge off of you." Eggsy sounds exhausted and near tears. 

"You aren't, my dear boy. You've been badly hurt and need a place and some time to recuperate. As your friend, I'm giving you a helping hand. When you're able to, and not a moment later, we'll figure out a proper and fair rent. You're not sponging or taking advantage, you're letting a friend help you out in time of need. Like that song."

"Song? Which one?" Eggsy furrows his brow, trying to figure out the tune Harry's talking about.

" _Bridge Over Trouble Water_ , by those Americans. It's from my time, but you have to know it." Harry hums the refrain.

"Yeah, bruv, I do. My mum likes it – she used to sing it to me when I was little, especially after my da was killed. Always made me cry a little. Used to wish I had someone like that for me."

"You do now. Let me be your bridge, Eggsy. Let me be on your side."

"Okay." Eggsy sniffles a bit. "Now I'm gonna cry."

Harry pulls out his handkerchief and gives it to Eggsy. "Cry if you want to, no need to bottle things up."

"But that ain't the way men are supposed to behave, no? Stiff upper lip and all. Showing emotion's a sign of weakness."

"That's bullshit. I've learned that there's nothing better than a good cry. Bottling it up just because I have a cock and balls is, quite frankly, a load of horse crap. And it has nothing to do with being gay. The world would be a lot better place if all men would understand the value of a good cry."

"Yeah, probably." Eggsy yawns and holds the pillow against his chest. "Hate to say it, but I'm beat."

Harry's not the least bit surprised; he's kind of amazed that Eggsy's lasted this long. "Then close your eyes, my dear boy. Sleep – it'll help you heal."

"But I've been sleeping for days."

"It's not the same thing – you were under sedation to keep you still."

"Will you stay with me? Don't want to be alone." Eggsy asks plaintively, still on the edge of tears. 

Harry feels like his heart's about to break. "Of course. I have no place I'd rather be. Would you like me to read to you? I have a few books on my phone."

"Yeah, that'd be nice. What do you have?"

"I've been in the mood for the classics of late. You have a choice, _Pride and Prejudice_ , _Far From the Madding Crowd_ , and the entire _Moomin_ saga.

" _Moomin_? You're reading kiddie books?"

Harry shrugs. "Sometimes I need the softness and security they provide. You're familiar with them?"

"Not really – just kind of remember seeing them in the library and thinking that I'd like to read 'em to Daisy when she gets a bit older."

"Then perhaps you'll let me read them to you."

"All right, yeah. That'd be nice." Eggsy closes his eyes and nestles a bit under the covers.

Harry opens up _Finn Family Moomintroll_ , his personal favorite, and starts to read. " _One gray morning the first snow began to fall in the Valley of the Moomins. It fell softly and quietly, and in a few hours everything was white._

" _Moomintroll stood on his doorstep and watched the valley nestle beneath its winter blanket. 'Tonight,' he thought, 'we shall settle down for our long winter's sleep.' …_ "

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

The day after the doctors remove the breathing tube, Eggsy's on his feet and walking from the bed to the bathroom, and up and down the halls. Harry's brought him a lovely burgundy robe that likely cost more than the winged Adidas trainers he'd once coveted, but at least he isn't flashing his butt to the rest of the patients on the floor.

The next day, the N-G tube comes out and he's allowed to have solid food. Eggsy can't convince Harry to bring him something decent, like KFC or Nando's, but Harry does turn up with something from a famous restaurant, packed in pretty cartons and a set of real china and silverware. Eggsy manages about three bites; it's delicious but his eyes are definitely bigger than his stomach. Harry says he'll bring it home and share it with Mr. Pickle, who - by the way - can't wait to see him.

The day after _that_ , the doctors tell him he'll be able to go home, provided that there will be someone to care for him and he won't have to climb stairs more than twice a day. Harry, at Eggsy's request, had been present at the consult and assured the doctor that Eggsy will have all the care he needs, that he'll be bringing in a private duty nurse to oversee Eggsy's drug regimen and wound care. Satisfied with Harry's support, the doctor tells him he'll sign the discharge notes first thing tomorrow morning.

When the doctor leaves, Eggsy looks over at Harry, who likes like _he's_ just won the lottery. He can't quite make sense of Harry - but that isn't something new. Harry seems so fucking _invested_ in the care and comfort of one useless chav named Eggsy Unwin. It's gotten to the point that Eggsy's just stopped trying to make sense of it all. 

"What's the matter?"

"Nothing, just thinking about how things have turned out. How lucky I've gotten. Not about getting stabbed, but finding you."

Harry actually blushes. "I think it's more the other way around - I find myself wondering just how lucky I've been to find _you_."

"This going to be another one of those circular arguments, bruv? Like which came first, the chicken or the egg?"

Harry nods, gracefully conceding the moment. "Now, you'll need clothes and shoes and such for tomorrow. Any preferences?"

"My stuff's still at the flat. I'll tell Ryan or Jamal to swing by tonight with whatever's clean." His mates have been regular visitors in the evenings, giving Harry a chance to go home and rest.

"Actually, your friends had packed up your things and delivered them to my house yesterday. I took the liberty, since you'd agreed to move it and you wouldn't be in any condition to do any kind of packing. I hope you don't mind. I've unpacked your clothes and put them away. I had a bookcase brought into the bedroom so you'll have a place for your books."

Eggsy doesn't, he's just kind of embarrassed that Harry handled his crappy clothes. "I hope you didn't bring over the kitchen shi- stuff. I was going to leave it behind - it's all older than the hills."

"I do have to confess I'd been a bit worried about that. I had your friends bring it to a charity shop."

"Thanks - maybe someone can find a use for it."

"That's what I'd thought."

There's a bit of a lull in the conversation. Eggsy has a million questions but can't seem to ask a single one. Harry just sits there, smiling that sweet, gentle smile, the one that makes Eggsy feel safe and happy.

"Would you like me to read to you?"

"Maybe later? You got such a great voice, but it makes me too relaxed. Don't want to doze off."

"There's no reason why you shouldn't. Like I've said before, there's nothing that will help you heal like a good sleep. And good antibiotics."

"Yeah, but you can't find it much fun to watch me sleep."

"You don't have to entertain me, my dear boy."

Eggsy loves when Harry calls him that. He's never wanted a "daddy" - not _that_ way - but the words and the tone make Eggsy feel cherished, something he can't ever remember feeling. Maybe long ago, when his da was alive, but that might be a hope and a dream, rather than a real memory.

"Would you like to play cards?"

"Yeah, I could go for that." Harry's taught him a few games and they've only played for bragging rights, but Harry's never let deliberately thrown a hand so Eggsy could feel accomplished. Instead, he'd patiently explained strategy, trusting Eggsy's intelligence to make the leap.

They play until Eggsy starts to yawn and can't hold his cards up. "Think I need to call it a night, Haz."

"Of course."

"What time is it?" 

"A little after six."

"You should go home, have dinner and get a good night's sleep, too. Tomorrow, you're going to be invaded - hope you don't regret it."

"I never will. But if you don't mind, I'll wait for your friends to arrive - they should be here shortly."

In fact, Ryan shows up about five minutes later and Harry bids them good night. Eggsy gets the strangest feeling that Harry would have kissed him - on the brow or the cheek - but only had stopped because there's someone else in the room.

After Harry leaves, Ryan plops himself down in the chair. "Said it before, will say it again, you got yourself a good one, cuz. That Harry's, he's absolute aces."

Eggsy has to agree. "Don't know what I'd do without him."

"He'd offered to help pack up your stuff, but Jamal and I told him he'd be better off staying out of the neighborhood. So sent a car and a bunch of boxes – but Jamal sent the car away. It was too nice to just be sitting on the street; would have been stripped before you'd know it. And besides, we had Jamal's. Took everything but your pots and pans back to fine-as-fuck Kensington this afternoon. Big, bald, scary Scots dude was waiting. He gave us some dosh for pizza and beer – insisted we take it. Sixty fucking quid. For pizza! Like we could eat at Domino's or Papa John's every weekend for a month with that, more if we got Jamal's employee discount." Ryan pulls out his wallet and takes out a twenty pound note. "This is your share of it."

Touched by the offer and the pure friendship behind it, Eggsy pushes the money back to Ryan. "No way – you and Jamal did the work, you keep all of it."

"You wouldn't be here, like this, if it wasn't for my big mouth. Bragging to Rottie like that."

"It's all right. You thought you were doing the right thing."

"Yeah, well. At least Rottie's not going to be a problem for you anymore."

"If the rozzers ever bother to try to catch him." The police had come by the first day he'd been out of sedation and asked him a bunch of questions. Eggsy had gotten the feeling that they really didn't care too much about what had happened and he didn't have a lot of hope that the rozzers would actually make an effort.

But Ryan has news on that front. "They pulled Rottie out of the drink yesterday morning. Seems he decided to chuck it and jumped off a bridge. Some posh bird in a Porsche had seen a guy climb over the rails on Tower Bridge and called it in. Found Rottie's shoes and his wallet, so the rozzers are pretty sure it's him. They came around asking if Rottie had any family or anyone who could ID him. No one stepped up."

A rather hard knot of fear unwinds. "Didn't think Rottie was the kind who'd off himself, but who knows, right?"

Ryan shrugs. "Yeah. Ain't gonna question it, that's for sure."

A nurse comes in to check on Eggsy, to change the bags on his IV and offer something for the pain, which Eggsy declines. After the nurse leaves, Ryan comments on that. "You turn down stuff that's legit offered?

"I'm mostly all right now, too easy to get hooked on it. Don't need it, so I don't want it."

Ryan shakes his head and smiles. "Guess that's why you're moving to Kensington and I'll probably never leave the Estates."

"Nothing's keeping you there, Ry – just got to make up your mind and take the first step. Get a job, save some dosh – when I'm better, maybe we can get a place together."

"Not gonna happen, cuz. You're gonna stay in Kensington, you're gonna go to Uni and get a degree and get a fancy job. Wear nice clothes, drive a good car. You're gonna live the dream for us, Eggs. Won't have it any other way."

Eggsy doesn't know how to convince his mate that he doesn't have to stay stuck in a dead-end life. Ryan's always been the type to let circumstances dictate things – he goes with the flow, take the easy road rather than take the least bit of risk. 

So they play cards – a simple game of Happy Families – until visiting hours end. Ryan promises that he'll stop by and see him at Harry's tomorrow or the next day, but Eggsy can't help but feel that when Ryan walks out of his hospital room, he's pretty much walking out of Eggsy's life. 

The IV bags are changed again and when the nurse offers a sleeping pill, Eggsy takes it.

Eggsy wakes to the aroma of French perfume. Or at least what he thinks French perfume smells like, because he's never met a bird who's worn the real stuff, and this is kind of nice. He opens his eyes, expecting to see a nurse, but no – there's a woman sitting in the chair next to the bed, flipping through a magazine. He doesn't recognize her; she's pretty damn posh, though. Silver-blonde hair done up in some deliberately messy style, a scarf around her neck that's probably by some famous designer, and a rock on her finger that makes the one that Harry gave Meghan look like it came out of a candy box.

"Umm, hello?"

"Oh, good. You're awake. The nurses said I could wait here, but I wasn't to wake you up. Did I?"

Yes, definitely posh. "No." Eggsy struggles to sit up. "I mean, yeah – kind of smelled your perfume, but that really didn't wake me."

"Oh, my – I didn't even think about that. My apologies."

"Nothing to apologise for – it's nice. Just not used to smelling perfume when I'm in bed."

"Well, no – I don't suppose _you_ would." The woman grins and Eggsy realizes what he'd just said.

"Ah, yeah – right." Eggsy scrubs at his face, trying to become a bit more alert. "Uh, who are you?"

"Victoria Simanov. Once upon a time, Victoria Hart."

"You're Harry's ex? The one who took his books from him in the divorce settlement?"

"Ah, yes – of course he'd told you that. It wasn't very well done of me, but if I hadn't, the two of you would never have ever met."

"Yeah, I guess not." Head slightly spinning, Eggsy could really use a cup of tea about now. Or something stronger. "Why are you here?"

"Ah, yes. Harry asked me to give this to you." Victoria pulls an envelope out of her handbag and hands it to Eggsy.

"What does it say?"

She shrugs elegantly. "How would I know?"

"It's not sealed, so why wouldn't you read it?"

"Guilty as charged. I am something of a curious cat. But it's nothing bad. Harry had a meeting at the museum that he couldn't postpone or delegate, so he asked me to come and take you to his house when you are discharged. I gather that's supposed to happen this morning."

"Yeah." Eggsy takes a look at the note, and it's pretty much exactly what Victoria had said. Eggsy's a little disappointed, but he's also kind of glad that Harry gone back to work after taking so much time to look after him.

"Um, would you excuse me for a few?" 

"Is everything all right?" Victoria sounds concerned.

"Just got to get up, take care of things, you know?"

For a moment, Victoria looks confused, but then she nods. "Ah, yes. I'll just step out."

Eggsy waits until the door closes behind Victoria before throwing back the covers and getting down from the hospital bed. He doesn't bother with the robe, since there's no one around. He takes care of his morning business, cleans up and heads slowly back to bed. The wound still hurts, but instead of a sharp pain, it's more like a dull ache, like he'd been punched and bruised, not like something's broken anymore. Eggsy's more than a little nervous about going to stay with Harry, but he's fucking glad to be getting out of the hospital.

Victoria pops her head in, but is deliberately looking away, and asks if he's decent.

"Yeah, you can come back in."

"Good. I've brought some company with me." There's a big man with a full mustache and beard standing next to Victoria. "This is my husband, Ivan. He'll be our wheel man today, when I bust you out of here."

Ivan gives his wife a goofy grin. "Da, I brought the Rolls. You like Rolls-Royce?"

Eggsy's a little confused, but says, "What's not to like, bruv?"

"So you're our Harry's Eggsy. He talks about you a lot. Says you're smart. Are you smart?"

"I guess?"

"That's very good. Harry says you just need the right opportunity, you have much potential. How about I give you opportunity?"

"Sorry?" Now Eggsy is seriously confused.

"You smart, go to school, right? But school takes money, right? So I give you scholarship to go to school, so you don't have to worry about money. Problem solved, right?"

Eggsy feels like he's been hit by a truck. "Bruv, you high or something? Because you don't just give people money to go to school. People you don't know."

"No, not high. Except on life and my wife's lovely feet."

"Hush, Ivan." Victoria elbows Ivan and blushes bright red.

Ivan takes Victoria's admonishment in stride, "I know Harry. He introduced me to my beautiful Victoria. So I want to make Harry happy. You make Harry happy. Nothing to it." Ivan rocks back on his heels, grinning.

Eggsy shakes his head. "I can't – "

"You can. You will. You and Harry, you good together. So why not?"

"Harry and I – we're not like that. We're _friends_." Eggsy emphasizes the last word, hoping this very strange man understands without a detailed explanation. 

"Hmm." Ivan glares at Eggsy. "I don't like the word 'can't'. It's a stupid English word. Means nothing to me."

"But I don't know you and you don't know me. Taking your money for school would be wrong. What do you get out of it?"

"Tax break, mainly. But it makes me feel good. We Russians have a bad reputation here in London. We buy property we don't live in, drive the cost of living up for everyone. Make honest people unhappy. So this is a bit of a good publicity thing. Russian sends worthy young man to college, no strings attached. It's - how you say - a win-win situation for me? Make Harry happy. Make my Victoria happy. Make you happy. I get to write off everything for my taxes. All good, da?"

Eggsy feels like he's riding the London Eye going at triple-speed. He doesn't really understand what's going on but he's not in a state to argue. "Let me think on it, bruv?"

"Sure, sure." Ivan smiles. "Offer not expiring any time soon."

"All right and thanks. I don't want to seem ungrateful, but it's not really my experience for strangers to offer me money and want nothing in return."

Ivan rubs his ear. "Da, yes – I can understand. But sometimes the world can be kind. Should take care of those who try to do right by others. Harry tells me you have a little sister, that she and your mother are trying to make a better life on the other side of the world. That you're saving for your sister's education at the expense of your own."

Eggsy thinks that Harry needs to be a little more discreet, not telling everyone about Eggsy's business.

"I had a big brother, he did for me what you're doing for your sister. So, this is – how do you say – paying it forward."

Eggsy isn't sure if he believes Ivan, but he doesn't have the energy to argue. He'll discuss it with Harry and make up his mind. 

Victoria asks, "Can I say something?" 

"Sure."

"When you think about it, rich people have a leg up on everything. If you're from an old family, not a peer, but gentry, you'll get a pass because you've gone to the right public school, formed the right connections. You'll have a family history that you can point to. If you're new money, your parents can endow a chair, put a wing on a library, refurbish a laboratory. But if you don't have those advantages, you have to scramble, put together a list of qualifications that make you stand out. Grades aren't everything, test scores aren't everything, and while school admissions official make a lot of noise about only admitting the best and the brightest, they'll go for someone with connections over someone who's smart."

"So you're saying I don't have a chance?"

"No, I'm saying your chances will improve if you use the connections you have. Ivan, me, Harry. Especially Harry."

"How do you know so much about this?"

Victoria laughs sourly. "I spent quite a few years as a 'development officer' at Oxford, where it was my job to milk the rich for donations, endowments, legacies. The question was always unspoken, but it would be as loud as a siren – 'If I make this gift to the school, will my children and grandchildren be guaranteed a seat in the incoming class?' The rich know how to game the system and the poor and truly meritorious will always lose out to the wealthy and mediocre who will whine about every spot that's given to someone who doesn't have the right color skin or religion or ethnicity."

"So, it's useless? There's no way out?"

"I'm saying that the pitch isn't level, but if you know where the peaks and valleys are, you can get in the door, honestly."

Before Eggsy can ask more questions, a nurse comes in smiling and holding a sheaf of papers. "The doctor's signed your discharge report, so you can get out of here and get some rest. We'll just get you unhooked from the IV and I'll go through the paperwork."

Eggsy hold out his hand and the nurse is efficient as she removes the IV and bandages the site." You might have some bruising there – if you do, it'll show up in a day or so. You can alternate between hot and cold packs if it hurts."

"Okay. Got that. What else do I have to do?"

Without a word to either Ivan or Victoria, the nurse pulls the curtain around the bed shut and checks his wound. "That looks good, no bleed through. Bandage should be changed every twelve hours. Don't get it wet – sponge baths for another two days, shower but keep the site away from the water, and no baths until after the docs take out the stitches."

"Yeah, not really a bath person." Eggsy can't remember taking a bath as an adult. The tub at the flat is kind of gross, no matter how hard he or his mum would work to clean it. 

"Well, some people are. You'd be amazed at how stupid people can be, they go home and have a long soak with a glitter bath bomb. Gets all sorts of crap into a healing wound and bam, they're back here with sepsis."

"They're idiots."

"Exactly. And you're not." The medication list is short, an antibiotic, something for the pain, and that's it. 

Eggsy pushes the script for the painkiller back to the nurse. "Don't need, don't want."

"You sure about that?"

"Yeah." Eggsy doesn't think he'll become addicted, but it's not something he wants to risk.

"Then please write 'void' on this, so no one can use it."

Eggsy does, and signs his name, too. "Anything else, or can I blow this chippy?"

The nurse smiles. "I think this is it." She opens the curtain partway and asks Victoria and Ivan if they've brought Eggsy street clothes. Ivan hands her a bag.

"Do you need help?"

"I think I can manage." Eggsy _hopes_ he can. The nurse promises to be back with a wheelchair and Eggsy slowly and carefully gets dressed. Someone – probably Harry – had been thoughtful in picking clothes to wear home – a pair of trackies, a loose football jersey, old trainers that he can just shove his feet into.

He's embarrassingly exhausted when he opens the curtain to find that Victoria had been left waiting. She tells him that Ivan's gone to retrieve the Rolls and he'll be waiting for them at the front door.

"You two are aces. To do all this for a stranger." Eggsy knows he's repeating himself.

Victoria shrugs. "Had nothing on my calendar, so why not?"

The nurse comes back with the wheelchair and Eggsy sinks into it gratefully. Victoria and the nurse keep up a steady chat about nothing in particular as they walk through the halls and get into a lift. Soon enough, they are at the front of the hospital and Ivan's there, waiting with a Rolls-Royce.

And not just any Rolls-Royce but a fucking mile-long classic Phantom. The nurse whistles in appreciation. Ivan's standing there and waves at them. And there's also uniformed chauffeur, which confuses Eggsy. 

"Ivan loves that car, supposedly it had been built for the Royal Family, but they'd never taken delivery. He keeps the chauffeur because it's meant to be driven by a chauffeur, but he doesn't let the man drive it without him in it. He's a little … nuts." Victoria sighs at her husband's antics.

"Yeah, you could say that." 

Eggsy supposes this could be one of the highlights of his life – a ride in a car that could have been built for the Queen. Eggsy brushes a hand across the soft leather seat; the Rolls is really the top of the mark in luxury, even though it's probably seventy years old.

Ivan notices and asks, "You like?"

"It's really nice." Eggsy half expects crazy Ivan to tell him he can have it, but thank God he doesn't. 

Instead, Ivan relays the story of how he'd tracked the car down, the years of labor by craftsmen to bring it back to life. "She was nothing but a husk when I found her – just an engine and a frame and a transmission. Had to find everything else or have it built. She's like a Faberge egg."

Victoria rolls her eyes at the analogy, but Eggsy can see what Ivan means. "She's really beautiful. You like beautiful things."

That earns him a smirk from Ivan and a smile from Victoria and Eggsy's very grateful when the chauffeur navigates the turn onto Stanhope Mews South.

Victoria has a key and lets them in, Ivan catches Mr. Pickle before Eggsy trips over him, and Eggsy crosses the threshold into his new home. It feels like the most important moment of his life, this one insignificant step. As much as he likes Victoria and Ivan, he really wishes Harry were here to welcome him home.

"Would you like to go to bed?"

"Nah, been too much in bed. Think I'll sack out on the sofa."

Victoria looks like she wants to argue, but Ivan says, "Eggsy, he's a grown man. If he wants to sleep on the couch, he can sleep on the couch."

So Victoria shrugs and asks, "Do you want us to stay?"

Truthfully, Eggsy would like nothing more than some peace and quiet, with no one barging in to wake him up and check his vitals. But Eggsy isn't going to be rude to people who've been nice to him for no benefit to themselves and just says, "Not necessary. I got my phone and can call my mates if I run into trouble. Or call Harry. And I've got Mr. Pickle to look out for me."

The Simanovs settle him in with a bottle of water, they insist on adding their numbers into his mobile, and extract a promise from Eggsy to call if he needs _anything_.

Once the front door closes behind them, Eggsy lets out a slow, deep sigh of relief. The quiet is such a nice change from the omnipresent noise in the hospital. Even when it was supposed to be quiet, there had always been the sound of monitors, heavy footfalls, the clacking wheels of a cart, someone calling out in pain.

Now, all Eggsy hears is the light panting of his canine companion. Mr. Pickle is sitting on the floor, looking up at Eggsy expectantly, his tail going back and forth against the rug. "Does Harry let you on the couch?"

Pickle barks and pants and sits up on his hind legs.

Eggsy's a sucker for anything small and cute. "If he doesn't and gets pissed, it's all your fault." He pats the sofa cushion and Pickle is up with him in a flash. "I'm tired and I want to nap, you gonna be a good doggie and let me?"

Pickle actually seems to understand him and curls up under Eggsy's chin. He's like a perfect hot water bottle and Eggsy falls asleep almost instantly.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::


	6. Chapter 6

Harry's just about ready to commit bloody murder out of sheer boredom when he gets a text from Victoria, letting him know that Eggsy's home and settled in on the couch in the living room. She also lets him know that Eggsy had a mild freak out when Ivan had offered him a scholarship to the university of his choice.

Harry blinks at that. _Scholarship?_ When he'd told Victoria that he'd asked Eggsy to move in with him, he'd mentioned that he wanted Eggsy to go to school and get a degree, and that Eggsy seemed more than amenable to the idea. Harry had lamented that it would never actually happen, since Eggsy had seemed intractable about taking money from Harry for even the least little thing – which would likely include school fees, which isn't such a little thing. He'd even thought about asking Ivan and Victoria about setting up a scholarship fund, but he'd never gotten around to the actual asking.

"Mr. Hart, if we could have your attention?" 

"My apologies, Long Stringfellow. You were saying?"

"We've reviewed your suggestion for the new exhibit, and it's raised some concerns among the members."

"Oh?" Harry knows just whose "concerns" have been raised. "Adrien Krasner had been one of the leading lights in the field, his name should be just as honored as Adalbert Seitz'. Finding both his journals and his specimen cases is a stroke of luck equal to Howard Carter's discovery of Tutankhamen's tomb – at least for the field of lepidoptery."

"You're overstating the importance of Krasner's work, Hart." Chester King, who's been parked on the Museum's Board of Directors for two decades, offers his worthless opinion.

Harry fires back, "No, Chester, you just have a vested interest in burying it."

Lord Stringfellow, the museum's director, tries to smooth things over, but King doesn't let him speak, adding "Adrien Krasner had a reputation for being notoriously unstable and unwilling to work within the parameters of this organization. His contributions to the field were minimal, at best."

"Now, Chester, you and the entire lepidopterist community knows that's a lie. His discoveries – all but one of which are undisputed – are unmatched in the last fifty years. Krasner just had no patience for academic bullshit or ingratiating himself with those who did. I've read the proceedings from the initial hearing on the dispute over the discovery of a certain North American species. It had been made very clear that the word of an Englishman was to be given far more weight than that of a refugee from a Nazi concentration camp. The anti-Semitism that permeates that report still revolts me."

Chester purses his lips, "If Krasner had the courage of his convictions, he shouldn't have run off and hid away in a London council estate for the last forty years of his life."

Harry snaps back, "Chester, I'd strongly suggest you recuse yourself from this discussion, since you are personally invested in not having Krasner's work recognized and because you know absolutely nothing about courage or convictions."

"Gentlemen, please." Lord Stringfellow glares at both Harry and Chester. "Rather than settle this with pistols at dawn, we'll do this with dueling reports. Mr. King will present his opinions on why the Museum should not mount a special exhibit of Krasner's work, and Mr. Hart will do the same, but in favor of such an exhibit. I expect these reports to be academically rigorous and void of personal opinion and bias. You have six months to do your homework. The rest of the Board will review and vote. If I get wind of any politicking by either of you, you will feel my wrath. Understood?"

Harry nods and Chester follows suit.

"Then we are finished here. My assistant will send you the dates for the next meeting."

Harry's out of the boardroom like a bat out of hell. He's anxious to get home, but he's also eager to get started on the project Stringfellow's set to him. As he enters his office suite and passes his assistant's desk, he realizes he has a bit of a problem. Charles, his assistant, is Chester's nephew and has been passing on information to Chester since he'd started working for Harry. Harry hadn't minded; Chester has no real power, but as this morning's meeting has shown, Chester can be a pain and can make trouble if he feels his paltry reputation is under fire. 

Charles is good at certain things, provided they don't require any intellectual rigor. So Harry wouldn't use Charles as a research assistant, but he would have Charles transcribe his notes, prepare the report, all of the external work needed to produce a polished academic report. He can't do that for this assignment.

But an idea hits Harry, one that's too good to pass by. This is something that Eggsy could do for him. Eggsy might not have the formal training, but he's bright and oh so eager to learn. More importantly, he's desperate to do something useful and vital; he needs to earn his keep. 

Harry understands – or he thinks he does. And he hopes that Eggsy will find this an interesting and satisfying challenge. He doesn't expect that Eggsy will want to pursue a career in lepidoptery, but it will be a good way to introduce Eggsy to the rigors of academic research and writing, the skills he'll need when he finally starts school.

Which reminds Harry of Victoria's passing comment about the scholarship Ivan's offered. Of course Ivan Simanov would do something like that – like "stealing" Mr. Pickle the Third and going to the breeder to acquire Mr. Pickle the Fourth for Harry before Harry comes back from his holiday. The man's a little crazy, but in a good way.

Stomach rumbling, Harry checks the time – it's well past noon and he'd been stuck in that board meeting since nine. He'd had coffee but passed on the array of pastries, since Stringfellow has a nasty habit of asking a question as soon as he's taken a bite. Instead of asking Charles to place his usual order with the staff kitchen, Harry puts his jacket back on and heads out. He'll go home – it's less than ten minutes on foot – check on Eggsy and grab a bite, before returning to finish the rest of the day.

The house is quiet and there's no sign of Mr. Pickle. Harry remembers the text from Victoria, that Eggsy had decided to rest on the couch in the living room, so Harry heads there and sees Eggsy sleeping there with Pickle curled up next to him. The dog looks up but puts his head back on top of his paws when Harry nods at him. His little lad is a very empathetic dog, sensitive to the moment and the mood of people around him, a quality that none of his predecessors had possessed in the same measure.

Harry heads to the kitchen and sorts out lunch for himself and Eggsy. There's bread and cheese and a bottle of stout, which is perfect for a guilty pleasure he hasn't indulged in in a very long time - Welsh Rarebit. 

The aroma fills the kitchen and Harry feels like he's back at Oxford, half plastered and starving from someone's good weed. As he'd hoped, the scent has made its way to the living room and roused Eggsy from his nap. 

Eggsy shuffles into the kitchen, barefoot and half asleep. "Harry? Why are you home?"

"I wasn't supposed to be at work today, but there was a meeting I couldn't delegate, so after it finished, I decided to come home for a little while and see how you're doing." Harry pours the beer into the cheese mixture and stirs. "Also, to have a bit of lunch. Can I interest you in some Welsh Rarebit?"

"Hell yeah. It smells fucking awesome."

"Good. Why don't you go wash up and then join me back here. We can eat informally, if you'd prefer."

"That sounds aces." Eggsy heads to the first floor loo.

Harry slices the bread and tucks it under the broiler, then empties the saucepan with the cheese into a pitcher. He pulls out the bread, now nicely toasted, pours the sauce on top and puts it back into the oven, keeping a careful eye on the clock. Two seconds too long and the gooey goodness will be charred and bitter. His timing is perfect; Eggsy comes back just as he pulls the tray out.

"Can't remember the last time I had this. It's not really nursery food, with the beer and the spices, but is it something adults really eat?"

"I lived on Welsh Rarebit when I was at school. Merlin and I used to make pots of it in our rooms, we'd had a coil hot plate to make the sauce and then we'd use it to toast the bread. It's a miracle we didn't burn the place down."

Harry pulls out plates, slides a piece of the bread and cheese onto it and gives one to Eggsy. "Do you want a knife and fork?"

Eggsy grins, "What type of savage to you take me for? Even I know that you don't use a knife and fork on Welsh Rarebit." 

Harry waits for Eggsy to take a bite before he tucks into his own. Eggsy moans in delight and Harry feels himself flushing. That sound is downright pornographic.

"This is fantastic, Harry. Better than anything I've eaten in a long time. Thanks."

"You're more than welcome. I had a hankering for it and saw no reason not to indulge." Harry wipes his lips. "How about a cup of tea?"

"Mmmm, yeah. Your tea is aces, too. Tried making it like you'd taught me, but it's still pretty foul."

"Hmm, well, you do need to have good quality tea leaves to start with." Harry could opine for ages about that, but he decides to spare Eggsy. "How are you feeling?"

"Not bad, actually. Still hurts, but not like agonizing. Told the nurse I didn't want any pain killers, figured that I could take paracetamol if I needed something. There's a script for an antibiotic that I have to take with food."

"Did you have the prescription filled?"

Eggsy winces. "No - completely forgot. Could have asked Victoria or Ivan to drop it off at the chemist's, but was too beat."

"Nothing to worry about, my dear. I'll take the prescription with me when I head back to work, and pick it up on the way home."

"Thanks. Let me fetch it." Eggsy goes to the living room and comes back with the script, which Harry tucks into his suit jacket. 

"Leave the dishes, I'll take care of them when I get back home." Harry fully expects that Eggsy will ignore that dictate and the dishes will be washed and dried and put away by the time Harry gets home.

But then Eggsy lets out a prodigious yawn and Harry thinks that Eggsy just might listen to him. "Why don't you head up to bed?"

"Not supposed to climb stairs more than once a day, so if I go up now, I won't be able to come back down for dinner. Besides, your couch is nice. Do you mind that Mr. Pickle was on it?"

"Mind? Not in the least. I think he believes that it's _his_ couch. I usually sit in the chair, so he's had sole possession since he came to live with me."

"Oh, good. Was worried that I was letting him do something you wouldn't like."

"Believe me, there's no place sacred in this house. Pickle goes where he wants and won't be denied. Just be warned in the morning when he whines at you when you lock him out of the bathroom."

Eggsy's laugh is filled with delight. "As long as he don't think my cock is a sausage, he can join me in the loo. Wouldn't want the guy to feel excluded in his own home."

"It's your home, too."

Eggsy smiles at that and Harry is once again struck by the sweetness in this young man. The moment stretches thin and Harry is caught between his desires and his need to be a good man. The latter wins out and Harry gets to his feet. "I'll head to the chemist and get your prescription filled."

Eggsy nods. "Thanks. And thanks for lunch and for everything."

"It's truly my pleasure." _Pleasure_. That's a word he shouldn't be using right how. So Harry diverts to the mundane. "I'll pick up something for dinner, any preferences?" _Preferences_. That's another one that's way too freighted.

"Nah, surprise me."

"Very well. And if you need anything, call me."

"I will."

With that, Harry semi-reluctantly heads back to work, stopping at his chemist to have the script filled. When he gets to his office, Charles is back at his desk, and to Harry's surprise, the young man stands and clears his throat. "May I speak with you, sir?"

Harry raises an eyebrow at the formality. "Of course."

"In your office, privately."

Harry nods and gestures for Charles to precede him. Once inside and the door shut, Harry takes a seat and waits for Charles to do the same, but the boy seems ill at ease and prefers to stand. Harry's not in the mood to faff about and cuts right to the chase, "What's the matter?"

Charles takes a deep breath. "You know who my grandfather is?"

"Chester King. I knew when I hired you."

"He's always asked me to keep him informed on what's going on."

"I've presumed as much. He's let things slip in board meetings that he wouldn't know unless he's had access to my correspondence."

Charles flushes dark red. "If you've known, why haven't you fired me?"

Harry shrugs. "This is a museum, not a spy agency. We're not talking national security or official secrets. Things that I've had real concerns about, I've handled personally."

The flush gets impossibly darker as Charles gives a terse nod.

"You're competent, punctual, and nothing you've leaked has changed anything. Chester is mostly predictable, having you here makes him completely predictable."

"He wants me to sabotage your research and your report for the Krasner exhibit." Now Charles is close to tears. 

While Harry is pleased at this unexpected show of loyalty, he's not going to trust Charles with it. "I figured as much and I'll be making alternate arrangements for that work. You won't be seeing a word of it."

Charles closes his eyes and lets out a sigh. "Good. I love my grandfather, sir, but it's always felt wrong. But you've never said anything or seemed angry that information had been leaked, so I figured you didn't know. Or maybe you thought it got out some other way."

"As the old expression goes, 'keep your friends close, and your enemies closer'. If you weren't here, Chester would likely try some other way to get under my skin." 

Charles actually smiles. "He doesn't like you much."

"The feeling is mutual." Harry is curious, and asks, "What made you come to me today?"

"A couple of things, sir. Mostly I'm just fed up with my grandfather's attitude. He doesn't hate you because you're a better scientist than he is, or because you have a stronger reputation. He hates you because you're gay. Calls you a bent freak who should have been hanged with the other sodomites. I've been hearing that for half my life. Grandfather gets drunk at Sunday dinners and starts raging about the immigrants and the faggots and the Blacks taking over and ruining everything that's still good about England. And I'm sick and tired of it."

"I'm not surprised at Chester's vile attitude, but I'll be frank - I'm shocked that you doesn't share it."

Charles rubs the back of his neck. "Yeah, well, I guess I deserve that. I've been behaving a bit like my grandfather most of the time, judging people by their accents. But I've been trying to change that, trying to be better."

People don't change without reason, Harry knows that from personal experience. "Can I ask, why?"

"I have a boyfriend. He's from Argentina - his grandparents were like Adrien Krasner, they'd barely gotten out of Nazi Germany alive. David's taught me a lot, and I realized that even though I'd never be able to change my grandfather's attitudes, I had to stop enabling them."

"I take it that Chester doesn't know about your David."

"Still very deep in the closet, sir. My father might accept it, but my mother shares her father's attitudes. She's made it clear that if any of her children turn out to be homosexual, she'd disown them."

"I'm sorry, Charles."

"Thank you, sir."

"Enough with the sir. You can call me Harry."

Charles flashes a smile. "Maybe someday?" 

Harry nods. "Thank you for confiding in me."

"Thank you for listening. Any I don't have any ulterior motives. It really would be best if you kept your research out of the office. My grandfather can be very persuasive and I don't want to be in a position where I'm torn between loyalties. I'm afraid that if he gets frustrated, he'll start digging into my personal life and use that to force my hand. This way, I can tell him honestly that you know that I've been leaking information and that you're doing your report to Lord Stringfellow outside the office."

Harry has an evil idea, "Or you could keep him sweet and feed him bits and pieces, lay a false trail."

Charles' eyes light up. "I could do that. Keep him off both our backs and make him look foolish in front of Lord Stringfellow. He'll be pissed at me, but only because you got one over on him, not because I didn't do what he'd asked me to." With that, Charles excuses himself and heads back to his desk.

Harry's not one hundred percent convinced that Charles isn't playing him, but that's more because he's spent too much time around Merlin, who is such a paranoid bastard.

What's left of the day goes quickly. Harry does some research on how get Eggsy access to the Museum's research libraries. He may need to bring Eggsy on in some type of employment capacity, which shouldn't be a problem. There are always internship slots available - usually the Museum directors fill them with family members, but Harry's never requested a placement for anyone, so there's no reason why his own request shouldn't be honored. 

A little before five, Harry shuts down his computer and leaves for the day. He's grateful it's Friday and he'll have the whole weekend to spend with Eggsy - getting Eggsy sorted out in the house, making sure he takes care of his healing body. He also has to ask Eggsy if he actually wants to do this research work - if it's something he'll find interesting and challenging. Harry's fairly certain that Eggsy will do whatever he's asked, Eggsy's a young man who is loyal, and if not precisely obedient, he wants to please Harry.

It would be so easy to take advantage of that, for Harry to abuse the position of trust he's place himself in, and Eggsy would probably never realize how manipulative Harry is. 

Harry sighs. He feels like he's living in a Jane Austen novel. All manner and morals and repressed desires. He doesn't even know if Eggsy would welcome his romantic intentions. He'd finally admitted to himself that he loves Eggsy, that he could see himself building a life with him, despite the differences in class and education. It's the age difference that gives Harry pause – he has close to twenty-five years on Eggsy and he can't imagine why a vital young man would tie himself to someone so firmly entrenched in middle age. 

This is a conversation Harry has had with himself many times over the last few weeks and he never gets an answer. So he puts any though of a relationship with Eggsy out of his mind and simply enjoys the walk home. There's a decent curry shop next to the chemist and he places an order, then goes to pick up Eggsy's antibiotics. The pharmacist gives him a long speech about how to take the pills, what to avoid, and notes that birth control might become ineffective. Harry nods and doesn't bother to tell the man that "Gary Unwin" doesn't need birth control.

Dinner in hand, Harry heads home. Eggsy's once again asleep on the couch with Pickle, and Harry heads into the kitchen. Of course, all of the lunch dishes are done and in the drying rack. Harry has most of the food unpacked when Pickle comes into the kitchen, looking for his dinner.

By the time the dog has been fed, Eggsy's awake and has joined Harry in a replay of their interaction at lunchtime.

"How are you feeling?"

"Decent. Finally rested, I think."

"It is rather impossible to get good sleep in the hospital."

"You'd think I wouldn't need it. I spent three days under sedation."

"That's not sleep."

"Yeah, I guess so. Anything I can do to help?"

"No, just have a seat. Everything is still hot – hope you like curry."

"Wouldn't I have to renounce my citizenship if I didn't?"

"That's true." Harry doesn't bother transferring the meal from the containers, and just sets everything out on the table before grabbing plates and silverware.

Eggsy mostly picks at the food. "Sorry – not much of an appetite, I guess."

Harry realizes that he's eaten even less than Eggsy. "It's not a problem. I think I'm still full from lunch. No worries, we can have this tomorrow."

"Curry's always better the second day."

"That's true." Harry then remembers the pills he'd picked up. He hands the bottle to Eggsy, and says, with a touch of devilry, The pharmacist said that the medication will interfere with birth control, he recommends using condoms and a spermicide just to make sure you don't accidentally get pregnant."

"What?" Eggsy's voice rises to a register that make Pickle whimper.

Harry laughs at Eggsy's reaction. "Well, that's what I'd been told – it seems that no one bothered to read the name on the script." He covers the food and puts it in the refrigerator. "Now, take the pill."

Eggsy does as commanded. Harry lets Pickle into the garden to do his business, and then shepherds Eggsy back to the living room. It's interesting to see the tiny changes that Eggsy's very brief occupancy has made in the living room – the trainers on the rug, the bottle of water and the book on the coffee table, the blanket strewn across the couch. Harry welcomes these small deviances from the norm. He's never been a fussbudget, but as a single man, he tends to live neatly and doesn't often leave things out of place. He suspects that Eggsy will be the same, at least until he's comfortable living here.

Eggsy proves Harry's theory correct and folds the blanket, tucks his trainers away, and fusses with the bottle and the book. "Sorry, didn't mean to leave everything in a mess."

"Relax, Eggsy. Nothing to worry about. Like I've told you, this is your home now."

Eggsy frowns, but at least he sits down without Harry having to tell him to do so. "What's up?" 

"I have a proposition for you. Something has come up that you might be interested in. It involves the specimens and journals the Museum bought from you."

"Oh?" Eggsy leans forward.

Harry adds, "Not only are the specimens valuable because of who mounted them, they are also from exceedingly rare species."

"Yeah, you did mention that there's a Palos Verde Blue – which is supposed to be one of the rarest butterflies in the world."

"Yes, and it's a species that the Museum doesn't have in its collection – or didn't until now. We don't kill for display anymore, so there are some gaps in the Museum's collection that would not be filled unless we could acquire existing ethically sourced specimens – like the PVB and the others in Adrien Krasner's collection."

"Cool, but what do you need me for?"

"Remember what I'd told you about Adrien Krasner, how another lepidopterist had laid claim to one of his discoveries, and how Krasner had decided to leave the field rather than fight?"

"Yeah – Mr. Krasner was a weird guy, had a huge chip on his shoulder. Didn't trust anyone, even when they did him a solid."

"I just found out that Krasner had been a Holocaust survivor. He'd been sent to the Bergen-Belsen concentration camp because he was Jewish. It was a miracle he'd survived that horror." Harry lets Eggsy absorb that.

"Aw, fuck. If I'd known that, I would have - " Eggsy shakes his head, "don't know what else I'd have tried to do. I'd gotten Dean to lay off the old man but if Dean had known the poor guy was Jewish, he'd have made it a point to keep harassing him, probably tried to kill him. So I guess his attitude was understandable. I could have been nicer, though. Could have tried harder to help him."

"I don't know if that's possible. You're a young man, from a culture that Krasner wasn't a part of, and he'd deliberately chosen to exile himself from his own community – not just once, but twice. He lived apart from his people and then divorced himself from the academic and scientific community that had once sheltered him. I think you had done the best you could do while he'd been alive, and because you'd taken his specimens and books after he'd died, you've given him a chance to live again, through his own words."

Eggsy bites his lip and nods quickly, "Whatever you need from me, I want to help."

Harry nods, " I have proposed that the Museum mount an exhibit honoring Adrien Krasner, however there is someone on the Board who is opposing this."

"The guy who says that he made a discovery that Mr. Krasner claimed? The freak who bought your books from Victoria?"

"You have an excellent memory, my dear boy." Harry lets out a deep sigh. "Chester King is not without his partisans, even though he's a rather repulsive specimen. I've looked at the proceedings from the dispute between King and Krasner, and to my deep dismay, the Museum was far more inclined to accept – without question – the word of an Englishman over that of a refugee. I fear that Krasner's religion played a large part in the Museum's attitude."

Eggsy is outraged. "Anti-Semitic bastards, after everything that poor Mr. Krasner had been through – that's the ultimate insult. Understand why he was like he was. But I still don't understand what you need from me."

"Because Chester King still sits on the Board of Directors, he has some say in which exhibits get approved for development. The chairman, Lord Stringfellow, has asked each of us to make a presentation to the Board on why the Museum should – or in King's case – why the Museum should not mount an exhibit honoring Adrien Krasner. The work needs to be scholarly and rigorously researched. The problem I have is that Chester King's grandson is my administrative assistant. I've known for a while that Charles has been feeding his grandfather information, but until now, that hasn't bothered me."

"Keep your enemies closer and all that?"

"Exactly. What I'll need your help with is getting everything organized, and if you are interested, coming on board as an intern at the Museum, so you'll have access to the research libraries."

Eggsy's eyes are shining; it's beautifully clear that he wants to do this. But Eggsy being Eggsy, has to do his best to prove he's unworthy of the task. "I ain't an academic, I haven't cracked a book in years."

Harry glances over at the book on the coffee table. " _A Field Guide to the Smaller Moths of Great Britain and Ireland_ isn't exactly light reading."

"It looked interesting."

"It is – it's a favorite of mine. And my point is that you seem to have an interest in the field and you'll be assisting me with a project I think we both feel very strongly about. I'm not asking you to do the actual writing, or do all of the research without guidance, just help me get this done."

"If you're sure, Harry. If you think I can do it, I really would want to."

"I have complete faith in your abilities, my dear boy."

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::


	7. Chapter 7

Eggsy heads upstairs not too long after that incredible conversation with Harry. He's nervy and filled with a million questions, but he's exhausted, too. It's hard to remember that today started with Victoria and Ivan Simanov, an offer for a scholarship and a ride in a Rolls Royce that had been built for the Royal Family.

Everything feels too fucking unreal. For the first time since his mum left, he wishes she were here, that he could talk to her and crawl into her arms and get a good, tight hug. And maybe a smack on the side of the head for being so silly about everything. He'd talked to her the other night, and while he'd hated making her worry, he'd told her what had happened. Michelle didn't say anything other than to get better soon and to stay out of South London. That meant he'd had to tell her about Harry and his offer to move in. Michelle hadn't blinked, just said to grab that offer by the balls and not to let go.

She'd likely say the same thing about Ivan's offer of a scholarship.

Eggsy lies on the bed and stares at the ceiling. It's an odd thing to realize that almost all of his nights have been spent under the water-stained ceiling in the flat in the Estates. And now, he'll never spend another night there again.

It's such a bizarre feeling – a door has closed behind him and it'll never open again. He'll never be the person he once thought he'd be forever – a chav caught in a dead-end cycle of crappy jobs, no future and too many obligations. He feels lost, insecure, like Rottie's knife didn't just rip a hole in his body, it cut him loose from everything he'd gathered to himself. Those dead end jobs might not have provided any financial security, but they gave him an identity. If he's not that man, then who is he?

Eggsy stares up and has no answers. 

Unable to sleep, Eggsy lets his mind drift, seeking out something that will bring him happiness. He automatically thinks of Harry. 

It's actually hard _not_ to think of Harry. Except for the time he'd been under sedation, Eggsy's been thinking of Harry constantly. Sometimes is a casual daydream of the two of them sharing a meal; other times, it's what would happen if he would accept the offer to move it – which is now a reality. When Eggsy had been in the hospital, he'd spent the evening hours replaying the conversations he'd had with Harry during the day and in the morning, he'd count the minutes until visiting hours started and Harry would appear with a book, the day's newspaper, and a beautiful smile on his lips.

And then it hits Eggsy hard, like a punch in the gut or a backhanded slap across the face. He _loves_ Harry. He fucking loves Harry Hart in every way possible. He's not happy unless he's near Harry, he's empty when he's apart from him. He wants to care for Harry, make Harry's life better, spend his days with Harry.

His nights with Harry.

Eggsy closes his eyes and all he sees is Harry. Sweet smile and concern in his eyes. He knows Harry cares about him. The man wouldn't have invited him to live here, wouldn't have rushed to the hospital and spent nearly a week in a chair next to his bed, if he didn't. But it's such a stretch to think that Harry could return his feelings. What would a posh bloke like Harry do with a chav like him? Harry's a man of the world, well-travelled, well-educated. He's got a name and a title and an important job. Eggsy's just a malformed child in comparison. 

Panic is a hard knot under his breastbone. How can he live under Harry's roof? The feelings are powerful, threatening to overtake him. Every day will feel like a ticking time bomb, it's going to be inevitable that Eggsy will say something or do something that will betray his feelings for Harry. And Harry will look at him with those lovely eyes filled with sadness and dismay and he'll be kind, but firm. He'll tell Eggsy how _honored_ he is, but he doesn't share those feelings. It'll be fine or a week or a month, but then Harry will start feeling awkward in his own home because he's too damn fucking polite to ask Eggsy to leave. 

It's all so fucking stupid. Twenty-four years old and he has to fall in love with the only person who has seen who Eggsy Unwin really is. 

Eggsy tosses aside the covers and gets to his feet. He can't stay here and wait for the inevitable disaster. He needs to go. Not back to the Estates – that's a life that's over for him. But he has some money; the ten thousand the Museum paid him is a lot of dosh and if Eggsy's smart, he can make it last for just long enough until he can get a couple of jobs and get back to work.

Not in London, though. He can't stay here, this close to Harry, this close to a better life he almost had. Maybe he'll head up north, find a place in York or Sheffield or Manchester. They've got Maccy D's everywhere, there are Tescos everywhere. He'll do what he needs to do to get by and maybe someday he'll remember this day with a touch of embarrassed fondness.

Eggsy finds his backpack and stuffs some clothes in it, his phone charger, and that's it. Somewhere in the boxes that are still packed is the tiny stuffed bear his mum had always said had been a gift from his da before he'd left on the deployment that killed him. Eggsy can't take the time to look for it, so it'll have to stay behind and be lost forever. Harry will probably call someone and have everything carted off to a charity shop. Eggsy wonders if he could have Jamal or Ryan get the bear, but then realizes that won't be possible. He can't let his friends know what he's doing or why he's doing it. Let them think he's living here for a while, and maybe, in a couple of months, after he's settled wherever he lands, Eggsy will let them know that things didn't work out and he'd had to move on.

He should write a note to Harry, let him know how much he appreciates everything that Harry and his friends have done for him, but Eggsy's afraid if he does, he'll end up writing something he doesn't want to share. Maybe the plan he has for his friends will work with Harry, too. Write a letter in a few weeks, thanking him for everything, and leave it at that.

Eggsy looks at the room he's barely had a chance to get accustomed to and closes the door behind him. The house is quiet, there's no light on under Harry's bedroom door and Mr. Pickle must be sound asleep, too. Eggsy's trainers are still downstairs, which is good – he's able to get out without making too much noise. But Eggsy hadn't counted on meeting Harry coming in the front door. Pickle sees him and lets out a small yip of excitement.

Like an idiot, Eggsy hadn't considered that Harry might have taken his dog for an evening walk. It's not even that late.

"Eggsy? What's the matter?" Harry must then notice his backpack, because he asks, "Where are you going?"

"I – uh – I got to go. Can't stay here."

"Why? Is something wrong?" The expression on Harry's face is unreadable in the dim lighting. It could be worry, it could be anger. Whatever it is, it isn't indifference. 

"Just so you know, I'm not stealing nothing. Just taking some of my clothes and shit." Eggsy's frozen at the top of the staircase. He can't go back and he's too afraid if he tries to go forward and get past Harry, he'll fall apart.

"I didn't think you had. But you still haven't told me why you're leaving."

Eggsy shakes his head. "I have to. Just – just let it go at that. I really appreciate everything you've done for me, how nice you've been, but I can't stay anymore." 

"Eggsy – "

Eggsy refuses to look at Harry. "Just – sorry, but I got to go."

Harry reminds him in a gentle voice, "You just got out of the hospital this morning."

Eggsy shrugs. "I'll be fine."

"You're not a prisoner here. You can come and go as you want. I'd meant to get a key made for you, but you can have mine." Harry pulls out a key ring and goes to take one of the keys off of it. "I'm sure I have an extra somewhere, so you can have this one."

"No – don't need it. Won't be coming back."

"I don't understand, Eggsy. I thought you liked it here. I thought … Is it the project I'd asked you to help with? Am I too pushy? Too presumptuous? I always tend to forget that most people don't share my enthusiasm for the field. If you don't want – "

"No, no – it would have been great to work with you, but I can't stay." Eggsy hates that he's sounding like a broken record. He wishes Harry would just let him go.

"You still haven't told me why. Is someone threatening you? Did Rottie find you and make threats?"

"Rottie's dead, didn’t you hear?"

"No, I hadn't. But if not Rottie, then one of his associates? I can take care of myself – I'm not as helpless as I look."

"You're a fucking butterfly, Harry. You can fly a thousand miles in a windstorm, but you'll collapse and die if you can't find just the bush to rest on. But no one's threatened you. Or me. I just can't stay and don't keep asking me why." Harry looks devastated and Eggsy feels like shit. It's all his fault, so fucking stupid…

"Then I guess I'll have to let you go. But at least take your pills with you." Harry is such a fucking good man, even when Eggsy's running out on him, leaving him hanging, he's still trying to take care of Eggsy.

"Yeah, thanks." Eggsy waits for Harry to move, but all he does it let go of Mr. Pickle's leash and the dog comes running up the stairs and plops his butt on Eggsy's foot. Maybe Harry thinks Pickle's enough to stop him, because he disappears into the house to get Eggsy's pills.

While Mr. Pickle has an enormous personality, his eight-pound body isn't enough to stop Eggsy from finally going down the stairs. He can feel the stitches pulling, and the backpack doesn't help. This is why the docs said to avoid stairs and carrying anything heavy. But it's not like he has a choice, right? 

_You could stay. You could stay. You could stay._

No.

Eggsy's too slow down the stairs and Mr. Pickle keeps weaving between his feet, trailing his leash. Harry's back, holding the bottle of antibiotics and his expression is fully readable now - he looks heartbroken.

So now Eggsy's feeling guilty on top of everything. "I'm sorry, Harry. Sorry, sorry, sorry."

"If you could just tell me what I've done, my dear boy, I'll try to fix it."

"Nothing you've done, Harry. You've been aces, the best." _Shit, he's starting to cry._ Eggsy sniffles and lets go of the banister to rub his nose. Pickle uses the moment to wrap himself and his leash around Eggsy's ankles and as soon as Eggsy shifts his weight, he goes tumbling down the last two steps.

Right into Harry's arms. 

Eggsy keeps apologizing, as if "sorry" is the only word he knows. Harry doesn't let go and gently pulls him until he's under the foyer lamp. 

"You're crying."

Eggsy sniffles, feeling too much like Daisy when she's under the weather but doesn't want to go to bed. "I'll be all right."

"But maybe I won't."

"Harry - "

"If I let you go, I'll regret it for the rest of my life. Just please, Eggsy, tell me why you want to leave. At least I won't spend the rest of my days in ignorance."

"Have to leave, can't stay." Eggsy doesn't struggle to free himself, though. He could stay right here, in Harry's arms, forever.

"Please, Eggsy. Talk to me."

"Can't. Can't tell you." Eggsy shakes his head, wishing that Harry would just let him go.

"Tell me what?"

The softness of Harry's voice, the strength of his arms, the sense of perfect safety and security, unwind all of Eggsy's best intentions. They are so much dust when he looks into Harry's eyes and sees the same kind pain he's feeling. Eggsy lifts his chin and throws back his shoulders, like he's at parade rest. If he's going to do this, he'll do it as a man and not something weak and sobbing.

"I love you, all right? And not just like a friend or anything. I fucking love you like a man who'd give anything to spend the rest of his life with you. And I'm sorry if that embarrasses you or makes you uncomfortable or anything. I didn't want to tell you because I didn't want you to feel obligated to me, just - " Eggsy takes a deep breath, feeling the stitches pull, feeling the shallow intake of air. Feeling his heart break. But it doesn't matter. Nothing matters anymore.

Harry doesn't say anything and Eggsy's afraid to look at him.

"I'll get my shoes and I'll get out of your hair right quick. You don't have to say nothing, I'm a grown man and I know how awkward this must be. But you wanted to know, so - so that's it, right?"

Despite Eggsy's best intentions to go out with some kind of honor and grace, he feels the tears start to fall again. He's not going to sniffle, though. Or wipe his cheeks. He'll just stare Harry down until Harry lets him go, if he could only bring himself to meet Harry's gaze.

Except that Harry isn't letting him go. He's holding Eggsy like he's something rare and precious. Eggsy finally looks up, and Harry's looking at him like he's some kind of unique species of butterfly.

"My dearest, dearest Eggsy. How could you think I'd ever be able to let you go now?"

"Harry?"

Harry's cupping his face, his thumbs wiping away Eggsy's tears. "You think it's a problem that you are in love with me?"

Eggsy nods, he can't seem to find his voice.

"And here I was, so worried that I'd been behaving like an old fool, letting you see how desperately in love I am with you. You've become everything to me. You're my world, Eggsy."

Eggsy can't quite believe what he's hearing. "What are you saying, Harry?"

"I love you, too. I love you so very, very much, my darling."

Unable to quite comprehend what Harry is saying, Eggsy asks the question he's been asking all along, "Why? Why would a man like you love someone like me?"

Harry looks at him so gravely, "I could ask the same question, my dearest. Why would you - a young man of limitless potential - love a strange old man like me?"

"You're not old! You're perfect. You – you're – " Eggsy shakes his head, frustrated at the inability to express himself. "You're the best person I've ever met, and you're strange but a wonderful kind of strange. I wouldn't want you to change anything about yourself." 

Eggsy swallows hard and strips the last bit of armor from his soul. "I like that you're older than I am."

"I'm a lot older, Eggsy. My best years are behind me, your best years are still to come."

"Don't believe that, and even if it were true, don't care either. I love you, Harry. Love who you are, and everything that makes you _you_."

"Oh, Eggsy. We are quite the pair. Something out of a novel, both of us trying to be noble, both of us failing miserably."

Eggsy doesn't really understand what Harry's saying, but it doesn't matter. "You're really in love with me? I'm not imagining that you just told me that?"

"Couldn't you tell? I've been so afraid I've been too obvious about my feelings."

"No? You kept doing all these wonderful things for me and I kept wondering why, but you said it was because we're friends. Was I being stupid?"

Harry blushes and ducks his head. "No, of course not. I kept telling myself it that friendship motivated my actions – and in the beginning that had been true. But you captured something in me from the start – I'd been enthralled by your generous soul, your loyalty, you're protectiveness. Not just of your sister and mother, but me. You argued with me about the price of those damn books – who wants to take less than what's been offered?"

Eggsy shakes his head, still confounded. "Who pays more than what's asked for?"

"You see? We are a pair." 

A whimper and a bark interrupt the moment; Pickle has gotten himself trapped – he's wound his leash around Eggsy's and Harry's ankles and can't get free.

Harry laughs, "Someone doesn't want you to leave, or want me to let you go." 

Eggsy winces as he bends over to unwind the leash, and Harry stops him. "I have this." A few moments later, they are free and Harry unclips the leash from Pickle's collar. "Shall we go into the living room or do you want to finish this discussion in the hall? Or do you still want to leave?"

Eggsy lets Harry lead him into the living room. "I never really wanted to leave, Harry. Just didn't want to stay and make an idiot out of myself, make you uncomfortable and unhappy in your own home."

"So you would have sacrificed your own happiness, your health and safety, for what? My peace of mind? My boring, comfortable existence?"

Eggsy nods.

"I would have come after you, Eggsy Unwin. I would have found you and laid my heart at your feet, I would have done everything I could possibly have done to bring you back home."

"Not going anywhere now, not if you don't want me to."

"I will never want you to leave, Eggsy. I'm just afraid that someday, you'll look at me and realize you've made a mistake."

"You don't think I think about that, too? I know you're all twisted about the age thing, but what about me? I'm a just a chav, I have no education, no prospects and you're – "

Harry silences Eggsy with a finger over his lips. "You are not 'just a chav', you are Eggsy Unwin, a young man who is shining with potential and talent and everything you need to become the person you want to be. You can transform, adapt, all it takes is the courage to take that first step. And you are courageous, Eggsy. You are the most courageous man I know. I don't just love you, Eggsy. I _admire_ you."

Eggsy wonders if he's dreaming, but Harry's finger on his lips feels too real to be a dream. "I don't know what to do, Harry. What should I do?"

"Stay, Eggsy. Stay and heal and let me love you the way you deserve. And love me."

Eggsy stares at Harry, finally believing that his love isn't a disaster waiting to happen. That maybe it's like the old movies he loves, or the fairy tales he'd read to his sister. Maybe he can have this and everything else. "I'm scared, Harry. What if it all goes wrong?"

"I'm scared too, but what if it doesn't go wrong? What if we can be happy together? Isn't that worth the risk?"

Eggsy swallows and makes the leap into the great unknown. He says, "yeah" and kisses Harry as if his life depends on it.

__

FIN


End file.
